


The Solitary Reaper

by Brisance



Series: Red Queen's Race [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen, Novelization, Profanity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 148,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brisance/pseuds/Brisance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humanity has discovered ancient alien technology and after a rough introduction, has taken their place with the other races among the stars. Almost thirty years later, Commander Shepard, of the humans' Alliance military, is sent to investigate a terrorist attack on the human colony of Eden Prime. Even if she is able to unravel the truth of what she discovers there, will she be able to prevent the calamity looming before the whole galaxy?</p><p>(Novelization of the Mass Effect series. Paragon/Paragade Fem!Shep, eventual Shep/Garrus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stargazer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Colonist background. Seemed important enough to expand upon from the little one-paragraph blurb from the game.

   The smoke blots out the stars.  
          Her mother grips her hand hard enough for pain. Around them, the colony’s shelter prefabs burn. Bodies lay scattered. Some of those burn too. The living charge in every direction at once, escalating the chaos as they tried to escape. There’s no thinking, no objections. Just running, smoke, and screams.  
          A batarian appears between the wreckage of two prefabs, holding some kind of weapon. Bipedal and upright, like a human, but then you see - four eyes, wrinkled face, covered in short brown fur – of course there were aliens out among the stars. Even inn a backwoods Alliance colony like Mindoir, the fact had seemed trivial. No one bothered to come out this far.  
          Now it’s life or death.  
          The batarian raises his weapon and fires almost lazily into the crowd. They scatter like cattle. Hannah jerks her daughter to the side, ignoring the screams and confusion. The girl glances back, sees people falling. Their clothes are melting off their bodies. Their hair disappears in a flash of smoke. Their faces drip off their skulls.  
          Others advance on an uninjured man and heave him to the ground. They step on his arms, put a knee between his shoulders. A short-handled tool is pressed against his back. He howls like an animal. Smoke rises.  
          There’s more screams off in the distance. Plenty of colonists are dying, but, now some are being taken alive. Mother and child leave it behind in a mad dash. Let the dying be a distraction for escape.  
          Past the twisted wreckage of a two-story prefab, Hannah staggers to a stop. The grey wall surrounding the living area of the colony looms above them. And tucked away there is a tiny door, like a locker, half hidden in the wreckage. It covers the drainage gate, for directing rainwater. It would lead down to the sluice to take water out to the fields surrounding the colony proper.  
          The lock is still hanging off the handle, but by some dumb stroke of luck it’s unlocked, open. Hannah wrenches it wide and waves her daughter through. “Claire, go. Go go go.”  
          The girl stumbles down to her hands and knees and starts to crawl through. The slime in the dark tunnel stains her palms. She looks back, waits. “Mom, come on!”  
          Hannah bends at the waist to look down inside. “Honey, go. You have to go. The Alliance is right at the edge of the fields. You’ll make it.”  
          “What?! No – no. No, you’re coming too!”  
          Hannah kneels, frames her daughter’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m going to lock it from the other side.”  
          “No, no no, that’s bullshit –”  
          “They’ll never find you –”  
          “You’re coming with me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me –”  
          “-Run, stay low, head towards the hills in the forest. The marines are there, they just can’t reach us.”  
          Suddenly there’s an agonizing silence, save for the screams, explosions.  
          “Mom.” Claire never wants those hands to leave her face. “Please. Please don’t leave me.” She can see this woman clearly before her, smell the soap she uses, feels the callouses on her hands. The woman who stayed up all night with her when she was sick. The woman she went to for advice about boys. The woman she quarreled with over cutting her hair and staying out too late. She didn’t have to go.  
          But Claire is sixteen; too old to believe the old lie – _it will be okay._ Those batarian monsters have killed her neighbors, her classmates, and her father.  
          And now. Just as clearly as the woman – her mother –standing before her, Claire can also see what happens next.  
          Hannah stays behind, locks the door.  
          And then they will never see each other again.  
          With one ugly sob Claire is six again, tear-stained and snotty and hopeless. Hannah bends just a bit further to kiss her forehead, smooth her hair. _Hair that can never decide if it wants to be brown or red_ , she’d always say. “Honey, go. Don’t let them catch you. Go have a good life, be happy. For me. I love you.”  
          Movement behind Hannah; there are two batarians rounding the corner. Not running, just… striding, like there’s work to be done and they may as well get it over with. There’s no gun in their hands, but long needles, a drill, wires.  
          Claire wails at the sight, but Hannah is already moving. She grabs her daughter and _pushes_ , heaves her down the drainage tunnel. In the motion Claire sees the hilt of the gun sticking up from the hem of her mother’s pants. Gun- _when did she get a gun?_  
          Claire tumbles backwards screaming, cracks her head on the concrete side of the drain and slips further down the incline, scrabbling on the slick muck beneath her. Hannah slams the door shut, and the click of the lock seems brutally loud. Scrambling down the length of the drain, leaving her mother behind, Claire moves in the total darkness towards the only path left to her now.  
          Over the din, a single gunshot.  
          Sobbing, dry heaving, Claire reaches the end of the sluice, past the opening out to the irrigation ditch that runs through the open fields. She falls as she maneuvers her way down, slices open her leg on some bit of detritus at the mouth of the drain. She doesn’t feel it, as deep as it is, even as the river of blood washes her leg crimson.  
          In this sector, the fields are all corn – _just like back on Earth, you know,_ her mother’s voice laughs – Claire badly suppresses another sob as she staggers down the shallow concrete trench. Something like a siren wails overhead, and she scrambles for the relative cover of the towering stalks. As she does this, a searing white searchlight swoops by, only barely missing her.  
          The siren is getting louder, with more explosions, and as always, the sounds of screams from inside the wall. The Alliance was dug in at the hills, her mother had said. The batarians had come in force, used the defenses of the colony against itself. The soldiers at the hills were unable to help, close enough to watch their civilian counterparts be slaughtered and taken.  
          Claire runs a few lopsided paces, panting openly. The siren sound is so loud it hurts, and then a ship screams low overhead. She claps her hands over her ears, drops to her knees, and screams along with it.  
          The wake of the ship thrashes the corn around her, and Claire staggers to her feet and starts running. Her hands still press against her ears, ash and tears and blood marring her face. The batarian ship above the cornfield lifts off suddenly, leaving a throbbing silence.  
          The ambient noises of carnage in the background continue, and the sky still contains dark silhouettes of batarian slaver ships prowling below the stars. Claire runs. Through the dark sea of stalks, she lowers her hands to slap away the jagged leaves. Towards the dark outlines of the hills, where the Alliance is waiting.  
          The cornfield ends abruptly, and Claire skids to a stop, backtracking a few panicked steps into the cover of vegetation. The road is muddy, open, and seemingly deserted. The smoke from the besieged colony is clouding everything. It stings Claire’s eyes, burns her throat. The smoke isn’t good cover, not as good as the field, but she can’t stay here.  
          Keep moving, or die. Outrun the batarians, outrun the new memories.  
          Without looking back Claire lurches up the incline to the road. The pain in her leg is finally starting to come through, but it remains distant. Someone else’s leg torn open. Someone else’s home burning. Someone else’s mother, left for dead.  
           _A single gunshot._  
           _Mom._  
          The weeping was just beginning to subside, and now it returns in full force. No dignity. No composure. The bawling of a child.  
          But she never slows her uneven pace down the road, away from the nightmare. Towards… she’s not sure what. Just more nightmare. Perhaps it won’t ever end.  
          Through the haze of smoke she hears the airy screech as more ships take off. Ships holding her fellow colonists. Claire doesn’t look back, doesn’t look up. Keep walking, keep looking forward. The road is like a railroad track; she can’t stop or turn away now. She’ll either reach the soldiers or get taken from behind. Either way, it ends.  
          Finally the sounds are faint, far behind her. The smoke still chokes everything. She should be hitting the forests that surround the colony. The Alliance encampment should be near. Beyond the walled colony, beyond the farming fields, in the forested hills – there they wait.  
          Claire wobbles alarmingly now, teeters on wooden steps. There’s only the hushed sigh of the wind through treetops. The crying has stopped. There’s not much energy for anything now. Maybe it would be better to lie down, curl up. Sleep forever.  
          White light filters through the smoke, in one, two, three beams. All of them center on her. Alliance? Slavers? She’s found now. Still doesn’t matter. She keeps walking, a marionette’s march forward. She’ll keep going, too, until something stops her.  
          Something does. The smart click repeats itself a few dozen times before her. She slows, just a little, but doesn’t stop. Shapes coalesce in the smoke. The searchlight beams blind her, and reflexively she raises a bloody hand to shield her eyes.  
          The forms finally solidify into human shapes – fully human, not the duplicitous forms of batarians. They’re on the walls of the outpost, behind the shielded cover. Human Systems Alliance soldiers, spread in a battle formation. They each have a gun pointed directly at her.  
          She slows to a creaky shuffle, but still does not stop. Let them shoot her. Let it be over.  
          “Oh shit. It’s a colonist. It’s a kid!” They’re all wearing helmets. She can’t see who is speaking.  
          “You escaped from the residential area?”  
          “Who is with you? Answer!”  
          None of the gun barrels lower. There’s a response to this, somewhere deep inside, but she can’t find the words. Words were something from that old life, from old Claire. She forces air through her throat, and a raspy whine issues from her throat. Wide eyed, she looks to the black reflective mask each soldier is wearing and stiffly shakes her head. That’s all she can muster. Shake the head back and forth, no, no, no. Tears well in her eyes and make tracks down her face through the ash. Ash from buildings. Ash from people.  
          “Oh, fuck. It’s just you, isn’t it?” One of the men at the bottom of the gate straightens out of firing position. “Those fuckers left. You’re the only survivor, aren’t you?”  
          Is she? She doesn’t want to accept this as true. But there it is, staring her in the face. A hollow reflection in the helmet visors.  
          “Alpha squad, move forward. Sweep the perimeter. Make sure she wasn’t followed.” One of them is giving out the orders, and the soldiers follow like clockwork. “Get her in here. Jesus!”  
          The black masked soldiers advance on her, surround her. A part of her imagines there’s batarians underneath those masks, that it’s all one big trick. But instead of thermal guns, brain-jacking wires, the hands reach out, hold her aloft.  
          The second they touch her, she loses all will and collapses. The nearest soldier catches her, steadies her on his shoulder. “Damn. She’s all torn up. Someone call up the medic.”  
          Arms cradle under her, lift her up to be carried inside. “Oh, God. Is she really the only one? Only one survivor?”  
          The helmet tilts down to study here. “Yeah, she’s hurt bad. What’s your name, kid?”  
          Name. Easy. Just say it. This close she can see the vague outline of human features from behind the helmet’s visor. “Claire. Claire Shepard.”  
          At this moment truth sets in, as gentle blowing out a candle.  
          She is alone.  
          Past his helmet, the smoke is thinning out. Claire can see the stars.


	2. Fire and Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenkins was such a redshirt he got red-shirted right outta the story.  
> That's about it for this one.

> “The finest trick of the devil is to persuade you he does not exist.”  
>  -Charles Baudelaire

          

          The mass relay is silent, framed in stars. Lights flicker over it, a hint of its mechanical nature, and while it is as big as a space station, no soul lives either on or within it. It is a monument with a singular purpose - widely used, if not fully understood.  
          Arcs of energy flare around it, growing in size and frequency by the second. They swell around the glowing core, while stabilizer rings rotate faster and faster. Finally the energy crackles down the tapered, forked end of the relay before flashing away.  
          A ship now cruises along the length, dwarfed by the enormous construct. The mass relay has done the impossible – it has summoned the ship from another relay, somewhere across the galaxy.  
          The trip has taken next to a few minutes.

          

          “Terminating transition sequence. Internal emissions sink is active. Board is green.” The pilot of the ship leans forward in his chair. “Standby systems… activated. Drift is set at… 15k.”  
          Behind him, two figures stand at attention.  
          One of them is not human. He stands at well over six feet tall, upright and bipedal. His skin is dark brown, almost pitch-black, face covered in dermal plates and adorned with an elaborate white tattoo. The plates eventually turn to feathery spines that run low over the top of his head, like the crest of a bird. His inner jaws are flat and stiff, framed by an outer set of mandibles that both end at his chin.  
          The human woman next to him barely reaches his shoulder. She has the standard issue Alliance Marine uniform; plain black save for the wide scarlet stripe running the length of the right sleeve and the N7 insignia over the right breast. Her hair is somewhere between red and brown.  
          “Fifteen K,” the nonhuman confirms. Even his voice is alien – each word has a buzzing, flanging effect. “Well. Your captain will be pleased.” Without another comment, he turns and leaves the helm.  
          The pilot stares straight forward and waits for the door to slide shut. “I… really hate that guy.”  
          An Alliance soldier at a nearby terminal snorts. “Nihlus gave you a compliment, so you hate him?”  
          Rolling his eyes, the pilot says, “Compliment? Why does it sound like he’s surprised that I zipped up after taking a leak? I just did a relay jump and landed the Normandy on the head of a pin. 15k isn’t good; it’s great.”  
          He pauses, glowering as he works. “Besides, Spectres are trouble. I don’t like having him on board.”  
          The soldier shrugs. “Nihlus is an agent of the Council, Joker. The Council rules civilized space. Why is it surprising they want to know how a prototype Alliance frigate is going to perform?”  
          Joker turns laboriously in his seat to glance at the woman standing behind them. “Yeah. That is the official story. Those are for suckers. There’s something more to this mission. Isn’t that right, Commander?”  
“A Spectre wouldn’t be here for something small,” she finally says.  
          “Right! And they can’t even tell us the truth? They could at least –”  
          “Joker! Status!” The captain’s deep voice booms over the intercom.  
          Joker readjusts his baseball cap. “Just cleared the relay, Captain Anderson.”  
          “Good. Tell Commander Shepard to meet me at the comm room for a briefing.”  
          “Right away. Also, Nihlus is headed your way, Captain, so, y’know. Brace yourself.”  
          “He’s already here, Lieutenant.”  
          “Noted, sir. Joker out.” He cuts the comm, but she’s already stepping down to leave the helm. “Huh. Did the Captain sound… angry to you, Kaidan?”  
          The other soldier stifles a laugh. “Only when he’s talking to you, Joker.”

          

          

          Shepard leaves them, walking down the length of the bridge to the navigation area of the Normandy. She passes staff and crew, all Systems Alliance, working diligently at their tasks. The ship’s interior is dimly lit by orange glow of computer terminals. As she passes the CIC, the Normandy’s expansive galaxy map, she’s pulled aside.  
          Navigator Pressly salutes her. “Ma’am. Nihlus just came tearing past like he owned the place. You heading down to see the captain?”  
          There’s something about his tone. “You don’t approve of our turian guest?”  
          He falters. “He’s on a mission here, and we’re getting dragged into it.” Pressly hesitates, but his discomfort wins out over keeping the peace. “We’re only supposed to be testing the Normandy’s stealth systems. Why would the Council send one of their elite agents? Why is the Normandy fully staffed? And captained by someone as decorated as Anderson? It doesn’t add up.”  
          “But you don’t trust Nihlus himself?”  
          Pressly shrugged. “I don’t like turians in general. Runs in my family. My grandfather fought when they hit us in the First Contact War.”  
          It’s a popular human sentiment, and probably just as common on the turian side. That doesn’t make it right. Shepard frowns. “The First Contact War was almost thirty years ago. You can’t hold that against Nihlus.”  
          “Maybe. But this is an Alliance vessel, staffed by Alliance marines. You included, ma’am. Nihlus answers to the Council, not Captain Anderson. I just don’t like it.”  
          “I’ll see if the Captain has any answers when I see him,” Shepard concedes. “Just keep doing your job in the meantime, and everything will be fine.”  
          At the exit of the navigation deck is the ship’s medical officer, Doctor Chakwas. The silver-haired woman salutes Shepard as she passes, but with a warm smile. Shepard nods to her. The two women have never served together, but Chakwas is well-known for the motherly attitude she displays towards her crews. It’s also said that there’s no better medic in the Alliance. Yet another legendary soldier to add to the staff list.  
          The doubts lurking about the ship start to seem legitimate. A fully staffed ship, with a decorated captain, and a Council Spectre. For a new ship sent on a test run to a sleepy Alliance colony, it looks as though they’re being sent to the frontlines of battle.  
          Shepard steels her demeanor as she walks through the doors to the comm room. She knows as much about this mission as the rest of the crew. Whether this briefing will change that remains to be seen – as if the whole ship doesn’t already suspect that something is amiss.  
          The person waiting for her isn’t Captain Anderson.  
          Nihlus waits at the room’s massive vid screen, looking over a bird’s-eye view vid of Eden Prime; the destination of this now-notorious mission. “Commander Shepard. We need to talk.”  
          She stops a few paces away. “Captain Anderson was supposed to meet me here.”  
          “He will. But first; tell me about Eden Prime.” He finally turns to speak to her face to face. “I hear it’s quite beautiful.”  
          She stares him down. “They say it’s a paradise.”  
          “Indeed.” Nihlus fold his hands behind his back - two-fingered hands, not counting the thumb. Shepard knows that beneath those gloves are inch-long talons. She’s in the room with a predator.  
          He continues, “It’s become something of a symbol for your people, hasn’t it? Proof that humanity can establish and defend colonies far from your mother planet.”  
          “Is there a point to this?” Shepard keeps her voice neutral – as neutral as possible. It’s all starting to sound vaguely threatening.  
          “Your kind are still newcomers, Shepard. You’ve adapted admirably, but the galaxy is a dangerous place. How well can you – ”  
          “I think it’s time she know the truth.” Captain Anderson steps out from the shadows of the door. The light from the image of Eden Prime illuminates him – his officer’s dress, his dark skin.  
          Shepard looks back and forth to the two men, standing on either side of her. “I knew it. Well, everyone knew it.” Her gaze finally settles on Anderson. “What’s going on?”  
          “We’re making a covert pickup.” Anderson’s voice is cool. “The Normandy’s stealth will be needed for this operation.”  
          “Quite a test run. Is there… a reason I didn’t know about this, sir?” It stings, and Shepard hates to admit it. She was hand-picked to serve on this ship. If the rumors are true, hand-picked by Anderson himself. One would hope that distinction would mean something.  
          For his part, Anderson looks sympathetic. “Colonists on Eden Prime discovered some kind of artifact during development. A research team has confirmed: It’s Prothean, Shepard.”  
          A thrill sparks up in Shepard’s chest. Prothean. An ancient, extinct race of aliens, long gone by the time any of the current races had achieved spaceflight. Much of the technology they left behind is in use by the galactic community. In fact, the mass relays themselves were creations of the Prothean civilization.  
          “Is it like Mars?” It’s all she manages to say. After a limping, primitive trek to Mars, humanity discovered Prothean ruins sleeping there. The revelation had led to the snowball of technological advances, discovery of the mass relay near Earth, and subsequently, the discovery of the Council itself.  
          It changed everything.  
          “We’re not sure. We’re not even sure it’s usable.” Anderson’s keeping his voice even, but he shifts his weight where he stands. “It’s fifty thousand years old, after all. But it’s still worth a check.”  
          “All races have benefitted from Prothean technogy,” Nihlus adds. “The mass relays, the Citadel, the mass effect fields – we all reached the stars the same way humanity did: through the discovery of Prothean ruins near our home planets. Any new find could affect every species.”  
          “Is that why you’re here?” Shepard turns back to the turian, forces herself to focus. “Are you expecting trouble?”  
          “I’m always expecting trouble.” Nihlus strides forward on long legs to stand near Shepard. This close, she can see past the outer mandible to the row of razor pointed teeth in his main jaw. “But the main reason I’m here is to evaluate you.”  
          There’s something else besides a Prothean artifact? “What’s going on here?” She doesn’t care who gives the answer. “Evaluate me for what?” For a dizzying moment she wonders if it has something to do with her N7 designation. But that’s an Alliance decoration – what does Nihlus have to do…?  
          “For years, the Alliance has petitioned to have a greater influence on galactic affairs,” Anderson begins. “We can’t get an ambassador on the Council itself, but… even if humanity had a representative as a Spectre… it would show a lot of faith in human ability.”  
          He’s speaking quickly, now, and Shepard’s finding it hard to keep up. A Spectre? Do they mean her? She’s been nominated? Her Star of Terra is one thing, and even N7 is quite another. A Spectre candidacy is far and away a different thing. An unthinkable thing.  
          Before she can ask, Nihlus continues, “You were at the terrorist attack on Elysium. On shore leave. You showed tactical brilliance and rallied those around you to defend it until reinforcements arrived.” He nods, recalls what he’d learned about her. “With just you and your rifle, you kept the batarian pirates from crossing the breach. Those skills are what prompted me to put your name forth as a Spectre candidate.”  
          “Wait. You did?” Before she can stop herself she blurts, “Why does a turian want a human in the Spectres?” _Great. Very diplomatic._  
          He cocks his head to the side, just a little, and regards her with piercing green eyes. “Don’t assume all turians resent humanity. The same isn’t true for your people, correct? The Spectres need highly capable individuals. I don’t care what race they are; if someone is suitable, I will seek them out.  
          “I’m going to be spending the next several missions with you,” Nihlus continues. “After I’m sure you’re what I need, you’ll be inducted.”  
          “You’ll be on the ground team with Kaidan,” Anderson says. “Secure the relic, ASAP. That is your mission.”  
          “Just give the word, Captain –“  
          “Captain? Commander?” Joker opens the intercom. “Seven minutes out from Eden Prime. We’re picking up a transmission from them, and, uh…”  
          The tone of his voice says everything. Anderson moves closer to the room’s monitor. “Patch it through.”  
          “Uh. Sure thing.” The com clicks off, and the huge screen flickers to life.  
          The visuals show just static for a few seconds, but the audio transmits clearly. Screams, explosions, gunfire. Then, above the sounds of battle, a low, monotone note rises, drowning out everything else in the audio feed. It’s booming like a whale song and a foghorn coming from the depths of hell.  
          Suddenly the audio kicks in, shaking and chaotic. It’s a soldier’s helmet cam, and he’s knocked on the ground. His hands thrash into frame as he scrambles in the mud, then rights himself. In the distance is a beautiful little prefab town surrounded by greenery. Most of it is on fire. Alliance soldiers run in and out of frame. There are dead bodies everywhere, Alliance and civilians alike.  
          Someone out of frame helps the soldier to his feet. His head turns, and the face of a woman swings into frame. Her dark-olive skin is spattered with mud. Like the others, she’s wearing an Alliance uniform and cradling an assault rifle.  
          “Go, find cover! We’ve got to regroup, and –” She looks up at something behind the soldier, out of frame. The deep, booming note starts up again. The soldier runs, follows the woman, but he glances over his shoulder. The camera swerves nauseatingly.  
          In the sky, the clouds billow red and orange. Pale lightning arcs across the swirls, and they converge downward. Something emerges from the haze – huge, like a starship, but aligned vertically. The top tapers to a point, and the bottom – the bottom unfurls, revealing long black tendrils reaching for the ground.  
          The video cuts out.  
          The sudden silence throbs. Anderson remains frozen, impassive. Nihlus looks calm, save for a quick shiver of his mandibles. Turian body language – he’s thinking, hard. All of them are.  
          “Well, this mission just got a lot more complicated,” Anderson says stiffly. He opens the comm. “Joker, ETA?”  
          “Five minutes now, Captain.”  
          Shepard steps closer to the comm. “Joker, freeze at one-forty.”  
          “Ma’am.” The footage flickers, shakes, and then freezes. It’s the starship, emerging from the whirls of clouds, framed in fire and lightning. The bottom’s unfurled, and it looks like the fingers of a hand, grasping for the soldiers. Fingers, or tentacles…  
          “What kind of ship is that?” Shepard doesn’t actually expect an answer. It’s clearly nothing familiar, judging by the calmly frantic reactions of the two men.  
          “Nothing I’ve ever seen,” Nihlus says. He studies the frozen frame for a second longer, then he looks back to Shepard. “Well. Looks like it’s time to start your evaluation, Commander.”

          Shepard moves low over the gently sloping hills. The firefight around the colony has created plenty of cover – huge craters blasted right out of the ground, great streaks of black burned grass and charred earth, wreckage of assorted vehicles, both military and civilian.  
          Kaidan Alenko follows his commander with a practiced ease – the boyishly handsome soldier is a seasoned veteran. He is also a biotic – an individual capable of manipulating mass effect fields to affect the world around them. Another side effect of the new reality humans find themselves in: Element zero’s a vital part of relay jumps, but open exposure usually leads to aggressive brain cancer, and occasionally the ability to move things with your mind.  
          So, a coin flip.  
          One of the hills before them has been cleaved neatly in two. Beyond that lies the colony of Eden Prime. Before leading them through the newly made shortcut, Shepard glances back. No way but forward. _A strike team of an N7 sharpshooter and a biotic. We can do this._  
          “We’re taking this slow, Alenko. We have no idea what the hell did all this –” the rampant destruction around them seems to have no rhyme or reason – “and we don’t want to be caught unawares. When we do sight hostiles, I’ll take point and first strike.”  
          “Ma’am. Why isn’t a Council Spectre giving us some help here?”  
          “Nihlus went ahead of us. He’ll be in radio contact,” Shepard says. “Keep your focus on the mission.” She moves for the furrow. “Don’t be afraid to get fancy with the biotics.”  
          They move down to the other side. Two bodies lay smoking, charred past any recognition.  
          “Oh, God,” Kaidan breathes behind her. “What did all this?”  
          Shepard thinks of a pitch-colored starship, tentacles reaching downward. She says nothing.  
          From the cover of the trench blasted out of the ground, there is movement. Elongated spheres, no bigger than a human head, floating horizontally past the trees. Thin cables show between white plating. Clearly mechanical. Not Alliance, so that makes it an enemy.  
          She ducks back under the ridge of the trench, unfolds the sniper rifle off her back, and primes to shoot. “Kaidan, slow ‘em down for the shot.”  
          A passing glance is all she can spare him; the gentle hiss and click of the thermal clip settling in the sniper rifle, and it’s time to go. Down the scope, the drones are magnified in the lens. The combat computer compensates for the instability of her hands, wind, everything. The globes rotate lazily as they float, and one lines up in the crosshairs…  
          Her finger clenches on the trigger, sends the bullet tearing through the foe. At the same time, a blue-white streak of light fires from it, straight for their hiding place. _Damn fast reaction time. They were alerted the moment the shot fired._ The two others fire as well, and the laser pulses sear the ground around them. There’s no surprise or reaction as with a living foe: just instant triangulation of their hiding spot, and retaliation.  
          The fiery blue aura of Kaidan’s biotics envelop another droid, tearing it apart. Her next shot is ready, and in the next heartbeat she lines it and fires. Done and over, even despite the counterattack.  
          Shepard stands and stores the rifle back on her back. Even telescoped down and folded, it sticks up past her shoulder. Kaidan is kneeling a short distance away, examining what’s left of the mechanical spheres and the scorch marks left in the ground around them.  
          “What is this, Commander?” Kaidan glances up at her. “I’ve never seen hardware like this.”  
          “Lightly armored and armed. Not meant for combat, per se. Scouting or recon, maybe.” Shepard crosses her arms. Nothing about this mission is familiar. The galaxy is too well-established for this many unknowns. It doesn’t bode well. “I guess we’re going to find out.”  
          “Aye aye, Commander. Lead the way.” Kaidan stands.  
          Their path to Eden Prime leads them through a light scattering of trees. The random shattered timber and burning patches of earth serve the reminder of what might lie ahead. They reach the crest of the hill. Good cover, good distance. Shepard raises a fist, signals Alenko to halt, which he does. She unslings the sniper rifle, scans the next stretch through the scope.  
          It’s an excavation grid, surrounded with crude fences and flag markers. It's the dig site. Here and there, thin spikes as high as a human’s waist rise out of flat tripods. “What the hell…?”  
          “Ma’am. Is that… Prothean?” Kaidan notices them too.  
          “I don’t…” The magnified vision in the scope surveys up and down the spear. Smooth, dark, matte. “No. It’s something else.”  
          “Commander!” Shepard jerks her head up to see past the scope. A figure is running out of the dig site. It’s the woman from the vid – the Alliance soldier. Pale blue pulse shots fire after her. She’s fleeing something –  
          Two bipedal beings advance on the fleeing soldier almost lazily, firing the same kinds of laser pulses the drones used. They’re synthetics – sleek white plates, entwined cables, a single glowing photoreceptor for a face. Inhaling sharply, Shepard realigns the scope of the sniper rifle over one of them and fires, giving the woman some cover. From his cover a few paces away, Kaidan biotically lifts the other off its feet, following up with some shots from his side pistol.  
          There’s screaming from the dig site – a man in civilian clothes, being held by two more synthetics. They raise the man over one of the spikes. They push down.  
          At this distance, Shepard can’t hear the gurgling sound he makes, but her mind supplies it anyways. The spike extends upwards violently, carrying the impaled man high before it stops. The woman reaches the bottom of the incline, turns to fire, even though it’s already too late.  
          One of the synthetics’ heads explodes as the sniper shell hits. _So strange looking,_ Shepard thinks as she loads the next shot. The white plating curves up their shoulders, over the head. It gives them a hooded look. There’s only one thing they can be. _Self-aware machines. So, this is what they look like…_  
          The second shot catches the synthetic in the shoulder in a spray of sparks. A blue field of biotics freezes it in place, then hail of bullets follow – the woman’s wielding the assault rifle, following up the attack. Thankfully, it falls. Good results for a perfectly executed attack. _Except for that body speared up there…_  
          “Commander…? Ah, Commander!” The woman runs to meet them and salutes. Her eyes dart to the red stroke down the right arm of Shepard’s uniform, then to the N7 insignia. She swallows hard. “Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, ma’am. Thanks for the assist.”  
          “Commander Claire Shepard.” She looks first to the fallen synthetics, then to the still figure impaled high on the spike. “Williams, what’s going on here?”  
          “Surprise attack, ma’am.” Williams lowers her salute, grips her rifle with both hands. “Came down just as we were loading the beacon to be picked up by the SSV Normandy.”  
          “What… are they?” Kaidan asks.  
          “I’m… not one hundred percent sure, sir.” Ashley says. “If I had to answer… I think they’re geth.” She looks anxiously to Shepard.  
          “Geth? That can’t be right.” Kaidan’s eyes narrow. “The geth haven’t left the Perseus Veil since they rebelled against their creators. That was three centuries ago. Why attack an Alliance colony?”  
          “No,” Shepard says. “There’s only one race of synthetics in the galaxy. Unless someone’s been keeping some big secrets, these are geth. Any helping that poor bastard?” She nods to the impaled civilian hanging limp and spread-eagled above them.  
          “No ma’am. They brought the spikes; and they’ve been doing that to the people they manage to catch alive. After they go up like that, there’s no getting them down again.”  
          “Intimidation tactics?” No use in mulling it over now. “What’s that about the beacon? Is that the Prothean artifact?”  
          “Ma’am.” Ashely nods. “The colonists found this structure amid the ruins, like a pillar. The researchers said it was emitting some kind of signal or something. They’ve been calling it the beacon.”  
          “And where is it now?”  
          “Open spaceport dock,” Ashley says. “I can lead you there, Commander.” She waves them on, cradling her rifle. “Past the dig site.”  
          They move quickly and quietly through the trench down to the open pit. A light wind shifts the flags planted amid the site, but there’s no sign of life, synthetic or otherwise.  
          As they reach the other end of the dig site at the base of the next hill, Shepard’s comm beeps in her ear. She accepts the transmission. Hopefully it’s good news, but she doesn’t know how that would be possible at this point.  
          “Shepard.” It’s Nihlus. “I’m at the edge of the colony. Lots of scorchmarks.”  
          “Yeah. We’ve already fought some geth.”  
          “Same here. But geth didn’t do this.”  
          “They took the artifact to the open spaceport.”  
          “Understood. There should be a cargo shuttle here. I’ll head over.”  
          “Meet you there.” Shepard closes the comm as they reach the crest of the site. A few yards away is a circle of shabby prefabs, hastily assembled. “This the research camp?”  
          “Yes, ma’am.” Ashley’s voice is faint.  
          The camp is littered with extended spikes, each with a single human body impaled upon it. As high as they are, the features are hard to see. “And the researchers.” Shepard does a double-take. There’s something wrong with them –  
          The nearest spike is only a few arms’ length away. Synthetic, that much is certain. But it doesn’t look geth – not like the drones were. It’s subtle but undeniable. Like looking at the difference between a fighter from the Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy – similar, but not nearly the same.  
          The geth don’t associate with anyone else. No one, not even the non-Citadel races.  
          So then where did the spikes come from?  
          “Oh… Oh, God – ”  
          “Commander, they’re still alive!”  
          The bodies begin thrashing so violently they rock the spikes gently back and forth. Before the soldiers react, each spike withdraws swiftly, and the corpses practically hit the ground.  
          They rise.  
          Hair and clothes are gone. The skin is dull, dark grey. Pale lights like circuits glow in panels across the body, between wires and cables. Eyes burn like two blue bulbs.  
          They sprint towards the group with guttural moans. Shepard grabs the pistol from her side – no time to prime to rifle – and fires. To her relief, Kaidan and Ashley don’t hesitate to follow suite. The assault comes on all sides, and one gets within grabbing distance of the Commander – electricity begins sparking up from its body as it reaches for her.  
          Biotics envelop it and fling it back just as the electrical blast detonates out from the monster. The distance is enough for it to be absorbed by her shields, and she fires twice into its forehead. The air around her shivers pale blue as the shield re-stabilizes.  
          The gunshots behind her finally stop. “Thanks, Alenko. I owe you one.” Kaiden smiles and nods, but his gaze quickly returns to the corpses at his feet.  
          They died quickly enough with gunshots – whatever they were. “They’re not people, now.” It’s obvious enough, but with the ashen look on both her soldiers’ faces, Shepard says it aloud. “They’re… just bodies. Just husks.” She nudges one with a boot. “Those spikes are… turning them synthetic.” She’s never heard of such a thing.  
          “But why?” Ashley’s breathing hard. “Why do this?”  
          “More troops?” Kaidan says.  
          “Or psychological warfare,” Shepard says. “But whatever it is, this isn’t geth technology.”  
          “Or it’s new geth technology,” Kaidan says. “The Council needs to know about it.”  
          “They need to know regardless. We should –” Movement, in one of the prefabs. Without a word Shepard advances, gripping the pistol. Maybe some are already on the ground –  
          She flings the prefab door open. Huddled in the back are two people, wearing researcher’s coats. The woman relaxes visibly at the sight of Alliance soldiers.  
          “Oh, thank God. Commander – and Williams!”  
          “Doctor Warren,” Ashley acknowledges the woman. “Commander, this is the head researcher studying the beacon.”  
          The other scientist, a haggard man, sits on one the prefab cots, staring at his hands. He raises his head and looks Shepard in the eye.           “This age is over,” he says. His voice rasps just over a whisper. “Only ruin will remain.”  
          “What can you tell me?” Shepard asks, pointedly ignoring the man. Combat’s hell, and some scientist picking over Prothean technology is probably overwhelmed. Shepard’s not surprised he’s cracking.  
          “Well, we’ve narrowed it down to some kind of communications device,” the woman says. “We can’t figure out how the data is actually transmitted. We had hoped to have some answers by the time the Normandy arrived, but…” She motions helplessly to the door, to outside.  
          “Do you know why the geth are after it?”  
          “I… I don’t. Maybe they want advanced technology, like the rest of us?” She picks at her sleeve.  
          Shepard sighs. The geth are a race of artificially intelligent synthetics – they themselves are advanced technology. Although by now, it seems that anything is possible. “What about the black ship? The one that touched down here?”  
          “Black ship? I… don’t know what you mean.” The scientist shakes her head vehemently. “I was at the site, I heard this booming noise, and then the geth…”  
          “I know the one, ma’am,” Ashley says quietly. “I don’t know how it’s tied to the geth.”  
          “Agents of darkness,” mutters the man. He’s still staring at Shepard. “Keepers of the cycle. Harbingers of destruction. You know…”  
          His tone is reverent. “Did a turian Spectre come by here?” Shepard asks.  
          Again the doctor shakes her head. “No? We’ve only been locked in here, since the attack started. I don’t know.”  
          “A prophet – a guide. For the shadowed ones.” The man raises a hand to his mouth and giggles. “A prophet – a puppet?”  
          “Nihlus arrived with us. He’s not helping the geth,” Shepard says to no one in particular.  
          “Yes, please, don’t take offense,” the woman says. “He’s brilliant, but he’s a bit… unstable. Especially now with all that’s happened.”  
          “I’m going to get the beacon before the geth do,” Shepard says. “Stay in here until the colony gives the all-clear siren.”  
          As she leaves, she hears the woman say gently, “See? She’s going to stop them. We don’t have to be afraid.”  
          The man laughs. “She can’t stop it. The darkness of eternity…”  
          Shepard and her soldiers step outside the prefab. Ashley motions to the slope behind makeshift camp. “Colony’s just that way. We can take the freight shuttle to the spaceport –”  
          A single gunshot cracks through the air. Not the ethereal sound of the geth pulse weapons – the hard snap of a bullet fired through a thermal clip.  
          Shepard’s blood runs cold. “Come on. We’ve spent too much time talking.” She ascends the slope to the top, sees the main body of the colony revealed before her –  
          The boom crashes down on them like a deluge of sound. Deep, bass, baritone – the footage from the vid did it no justice. The singular note reverberates everything – it vibrates Shepard’s molars, her guts, straight down to her shaking bones. Something deep inside – on a mental level – knocks loose and comes crashing down.  
          Fear.  
           It seeps in every corner and crack. Drop the gun, it says. Drop the gun, and run, because there’s no hope for survival only prolonging you have nothing left only delaying only running can help now –  
           _I refuse._ Shepard clenches her jaw so hard it aches.  
          In the distance, a huge black ship rises from the colony, framed in lightning. Black, tapered top, tentacles outspread. It lifts vertically, gracefully, sucking down a vortex of clouds around it.  
          Then it is gone.  
          The noise suddenly stops, and Shepard crushes down the panic. The noise triggers something primal, like a fully loaded fight-or-flight. Perfect to break up a battlefield. Now that it’s gone she recovers, if only a bit slower than she’d like. “No… there’s no way that’s geth,” she says between gasps. “I don’t know what it is.”  
          The other two are still pale, shivery, but there’s no time. “Come one. If Williams is right, we’ll find the cargo tram there. We need to get to that spaceport.” If they’re not already too late.  
          They descend the slope at an uneven kilt. A platform leads to the inner colony and further down is a boarding zone with a few rails for the cargo trains. Giant steel freight containers sit in haphazard stacks. One of the loading stations is empty – the train already departed.  
          Nihlus. He’d have gotten there by now, secured the beacon. No problem.  
          “Commander.” The tone in Kaidan’s voice dashes any hope. “Ah… look.”  
          Amid the boxes and burning wreckage is Nihlus’ body. Shepard kneels next to him, gingerly presses her fingertips to the side of his face. Turians are a race that prefer not to be touched, and even with gloves, the act seems disrespectful to the dead. His skin is still warm. Beneath him, blue blood is just beginning to pool.  
          “Shot in the back,” Shepard says, studying the body. “His weapon wasn’t even drawn. Damn!” The gunshot they’d heard. This had happened barely a few minutes ago. _Damn it damn it damn it._  
          “A surprise attack? But who?” Kaiden asks.  
          Hackles rising, Shepard stands, glancing around them. “I don’t know. Not a geth. It means there’s someone else here. Someone who could catch a Spectre with his guard down.” The plot thickens. She doesn’t see how it’s possible, but there it is.  
          Ashly cries out, and the three whirl, guns drawn. Shepard isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but standing pale-faced and hands up is a colonist, frozen at the sight of three barrels pointed at him.  
          Not the culprit, but Shepard keeps her gun drawn on him. “You almost got shot, friend.”  
          He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m Powell. Please don’t shoot. I saw everything. I’ll tell you everything.”  
          Beside her, Kaidan relaxes his shoulders just a bit. “Ma’am?”  
          The pistol doesn’t lower. “Start talking.”  
          He swallows, licks his lips. “That turian. He got shot by the other one – ”  
          “Other one? There was another turian?” Shepard’s eyes narrow.  
          “Yeah!” Powell nods enthusiastically, but he keeps his hands high above his head. “A… funny looking one. For a turian, you know. I think they knew each other.”  
          “Why?”  
          “That one,” he nods to Nihlus’ corpse, “seemed happy to see him. Well, I guess. I dunno. Turians.” He takes a breath. “He called him Saren. That one turns his back, and boom. The Saren one kills ‘em. Only reason I lived is because I was hiding behind the crates. On account of the robots attacking.”  
          The man talks too much. The way he describes it, she can’t help but wonder if any of it’s even true. What would a random turian be doing here? On a human colony? _You could say for the geth, too. It’s all for the artifact._ “Where did Saren go?” Shepard asks.  
          “He took the freight tram. Runs around the perimeter and leads to the spaceport.”  
           _The departed tram._ Shit.  
          “That’s where we’re going,” Shepard announced, stalking towards the remaining cargo tram. To Powell, she says, “Go find somewhere to hide until the attack’s over.”  
          “Right away, ma’am. Back to hide behind my crates. Be careful in the spaceport; that’s where the giant alien mothership was. Made a noise that bored right into your brain…”

          

The train slows to a stop under a hail of geth fire. Luckily for the Alliance soldiers, there’s more of those freighter boxes, waiting to be loaded on a starship that isn’t coming. It’s slow going – the geth have little concept of self-preservation, but there’s so damn _many_ of them.  
           _We’re being stalled._ “Push, people!” Shepard cries, lining another shot and firing down the geth in her sights. Like clockwork. Kaidan’s throwing them around in a hurricane of biotics, and Ashley is practically a surgeon with her assault rifle. Even with the chaos, they’re a tight team, and even that might not be enough –  
          Shepard aims too hastily and catches a geth in the shoulder. Advancing, she reaches it and finishes it off with a shot from the pistol. It’s the last of them that she can see, but there could always be more waiting down at the spaceport. _One thing at a time._  
          “Ma’am!” Ashley’s kneeling by something near the stairs down to the spaceport. “Need you over here!”  
          It’s a bomb – the clean white edges and silver wiring make it look geth. Inhaling sharply, Shepard activates her omni-tool; the supercomputer chip embedded in her left arm, manifesting itself as a hologram. In a moment it’s datamining the runtimes and commands in the programming. N7 training ensures she knows how to disarm bombs manually, but geth technology wasn’t included in that particular curriculum. It’s the last resort.  
          The omni-tool displays the commands needed to override the program, then the circuitry overrides to disarm it physically. Shepard follows each command as it’s displayed – even with a computer doing most of the work, a mistake can still mean death by explosion.  
          Finally it’s over, and they all breathe a sigh of relief. Shepard’s drained; there’s no more geth shooting at them, no more bombs about to go off. What more can the day throw at them?  
          “A bomb? The geth were trying to blow up…” Kaidan trails off. Shepard looks up, follows his gaze.  
          It’s the beacon, sitting at the edge the dock. Beyond it should be the rest of the spaceport. It’s untold destruction.  
          The ground is glowing, practically molten, in strange circular patterns. The heat radiating from it casts waves in the air. This was where the black ship ascended. It had left this in its wake.  
          The artifact itself is a metallic pillar, at the edge of the demolition. Patterns, like runes – or circuits – cover it, glowing a sea green. A shaft of emerald light emits from the top, pulsing gently.  
          “It’s… on?” Ashley says as the group halts a prudent distance away. “It wasn’t anything like this when they found it. I wonder what made it… turn on.”  
          “Were they trying to destroy this? The geth, I mean.” Kaidan steps towards it. “So they weren’t trying to take it after all?”  
          Shepard has no answer for any of it. She activates the radio transmitter in her ear. “Captain. We have the artifact. Major complications. We’ll need a pickup.” She turns her back on scene, away from the wafts of heat coming from the take-off site. “No sufficient place to touch down, so…”  
          Her vision blurs and drifts back and forth. Outlines get fuzzy. It feels as though her body’s underwater – Shepard turns and sees Staff Lieutenant Alenko standing before the beacon. The runes are searing, now, and the light from the top is a radiant pillar. Kaidan is lurching towards the beacon, hand outstretched…  
          Dropping radio contact, Shepard lunges forward. Her body’s moving slow – everything’s moving slow. She grabs Kaidan by the shoulder, by the wrist, and heaves him backwards. No one ever figured out what this thing even did, what if it’s a weapon, or what if –  
          The images around her, transmitted from eyes to brain, defocus to the point of gray nonsense. Then she sees – flashes. Glimpses.  
          A bloody figure crawling on the ground. It stops, raising its hand to the sky.  
          A ruined city. A pile – a mountain of corpses before it. Stragglers wander its base like lost children.  
          The bottom of a ship, landing in the middle of a metropolis. The segmented tentacles unfurl and reach downward.  
          The streets of a city, figures running, fleeing. The wall of flame behind them illuminates everything.  
          A planet on fire. Above it floats dark starships.  
          Everything goes black.


	3. Closing In

          With a gasp, the darkness coalesces into the face of an older woman – gray hair and blue eyes.  
          “Doctor Chakwas.” The images in Shepard’s head drift like dead fish. She fights to hang on. “Normandy? I…”  
          “Commander. Back with us?” Chakwas smiles, but it doesn’t reach the worried look in her eyes.  
          “How long was I out?” Shepard considers sitting up, but the room’s still rotating around her. _Blood. Fire. A mountain of corpses._ She closes her eyes and swallows.  
          “About fifteen hours.” Chakwas is close enough that Shepard can hear the scribble of the pen as she writes. “We’re heading back to the Citadel.” _Empty-handed,_ her tone says.  
          “Ma’am.” Kaidan’s voice. Shepard lifts her head and half-opens an eye. He’s standing a short ways off, near the door to the med bay. “I gave the report to Anderson, in your… absence.”  
          Shepard has to ask, although she can more or less figure it out. “What happened to the beacon?”  
          Kaidan’s gaze drops to the floor. He folds his hands behind his back. “I got too close – must’ve triggered it somehow. After you shoved me away, you kind of… seized up. Then the beacon shattered. Ashley and I carried you back to the Normandy.”  
          Resting a hand over her forehead, Shepard asks Chakwas, “Am I alright, Doc?”  
          “Physically, you’re unhurt. I was worried it was some kind of heady injury, but there’s nothing.” She picks up a chart off the counter, next to the med bay bed. “The only thing out of place was some errant brain activity.”  
          “Still sounds pretty bad.”  
          “It was a REM cycle. It’s associated with dreaming. Usually the brain slips in and out of it while we sleep. Yours was continuous.”  
          “I was dreaming. It started when I… the beacon.”  
          “Hmm.” Chakwas’ brow pinches as she looks the younger woman up and down. “I’m going to include this in the report. There’s no telling – ”  
          She and Kaidan snap to attention as Anderson enters. He nods to them both. “At ease. I see my XO is finally up and about.”  
          “Awake and coherent, sir,” Chakwas agrees.  
          “I have some things I need to discuss with the Commander. If you two would be so kind.”  
          “Of course.” Shepard hears the footsteps as Kaidan and Chakwas leave the med bay, leaving her with Normandy’s captain.  
          The cognitive effort of speaking is helping to diminish the visions. Shepard finally risks sitting up, steadying herself by clutching the edge of the bed with white knuckles. The images refuse to be banished outright, but it’s better.  
          “Well? How are you?”  
          Shepard doesn’t look at him. Staring at the floor is keeping everything steady. “What happened to Williams?”  
          “I’ve already put in the request to have her transferred to the Normandy. And the approval has already arrived.”  
          Good news. So there’s one positive thing while she was out. “Good. She really held her own on the ground down there.” She hesitates, inhales to speak but thinks better of it. There must be something for her to say, but she can’t find it. “Sir, the mission…”  
          “This whole thing has become a disaster, Shepard. The beacon, destroyed? Nihlus, _dead?_ ” He crosses his arms and leans against the bed next to her. “And Saren.”  
          Shepard perks up. “You… know that name, sir?”  
          “I do.” He gives her a sideways glance, without turning his head. “He’s one the Council’s best Spectres. If he’s somehow working with the geth, we’ve got some real problems. Humanity has some real problems.”  
          “Humanity, sir?” It’s getting hard to concentrate again. _A bloody hand, reaching for the sky._  
          “Saren hates humans. Holdover resentment from the First Contact War.”  
          “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think Saren was at the colony to attack the Alliance per se. He was there for the beacon. To…” To what? Destroy it with the geth? Had he tried to reach it himself and been thwarted? She regretted speaking. There were no answers.  
          “What do you remember? Before you passed out.”  
          Shepard takes a sharp breath. It sounds crazy even as she decides on what to say. But the images still flicker in and out of her vision, vivid and capricious.  
          And if she can’t trust Anderson, she’s in trouble.  
          “I saw a vision, sir.” Not a promising beginning. She sounds like some Hallex tripper. “Right before it went dark. I’m… still seeing glimpses of it.”  
          “Of what?” His voice is neutral.  
          “Death.” The most suitable word. “War. Slaughter…”  
          Anderson is quiet.  
          Shepard wishes Nihlus is with them. Despite avoiding the obvious problem of a dead Spectre, another head thinking about this would have been welcome.  
          “We’re reporting to the Council when we arrive,” Anderson finally says. “I want to include that in the report.”  
          Shepard recoils, both physically and figuratively. “Report what? That I had a bad dream?” He’s a step beyond believing her – he’s presenting this to the ruling body of the galaxy?  
          “It’s a Prothean artifact, Shepard. Anything is possible when you’re dealing with them; literally anything. And it’s our only clue to Saren’s motives. He very well could be waging war against humanity.”  
          Shepard swallows, hard. She’s loyal to this man through and through, but she’s not sure she wants to go that far just yet. “Well, we need to expose that he was there. He can’t get away with murdering Nihlus.”  
          Anderson gently claps a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to check in with Councilor Udina. We’ll be reaching the Citadel soon.”  
          “Sir.” Shepard watches him go. _Figures running from a wall of fire._ The image superimposes over the closing door.

          Kaidan is waiting outside the med bay. He hastily salutes as she exits. “Commander. Glad that we didn’t lose you. Especially with all that’s happened.”  
          Shepard rubs the back of her neck. “Glad I’m still here. But it’s about to get rough.”  
          He relaxes the salute. “Nihlus. Think the Council will punish the Alliance for this one?”  
          The answer to that requires too much abstract thought. One by one the images flash back. “I… I don’t know. Nothing for us to do but to face it.”  
          “Well, whatever happens, we’ll be ready. Ma’am.” He excuses himself.  
          Shepard blearily watches him go. Kaidan is usually eager to speak with her, ask her opinions. Her distress must be obvious for him to cut the conversation so short.  
          Time to head for the bridge. Get an ETA for their arrival. Hopefully pull herself together.  
          On the way through the CIC she sees Ashley standing over a terminal. Shepard’s head is still stuffed with cotton – and grisly images – but she still turns towards the other woman, managing a smile.  
          “Williams. The CIC keeping you busy?”  
          “Oh – Commander!” Ashley straightens, falls in step beside Shepard. “Great to see you! Ah – great to be here, too! This ship is amazing!”  
          “State of the art. Congratulations on the transferal. I’m glad to have you aboard, Williams.”  
          For a heartbeat, Ashley doesn’t answer. “I – ah – thank you, ma’am. That means a lot from the hero of the Skyllian Blitz. Never met a soldier who received the Star of Terra before now.” She laughs awkwardly, clears her throat. “And thanks again for saving me. Guess I’m still a little star-struck.”  
          “Welcome to your new posting, Williams. You’ll fit right in.” They enter the bridge.  
          Joker throws them a distracted little wave. The look Ashley gives him is unmistakable – it’s probably the same look everyone has when they first meet Joker. An Alliance pilot – a pale lanky guy in jeans, a T-shirt and the ever-present baseball cap.  
          “Commander Shepard.” He sounds relieved. “You set your alarm just in time. We’re about to pull into the Citadel.”  
          “Roger that.” Her voice is calm, belying the anxiety in her gut. The Citadel, center of the Council's rule. This will be Shepard’s first time here.  
          The Normandy eases out of faster-than-light, and the scenery in the ship’s windows shifts back to recognizable forms.  
          “And, here we go. Let’s see those taxpayer credits at work,” Joker says. He leans over and mutters some technical jargon into the comm. Then he looks up. “Docking orders received.”  
          The Normandy turns, and the Citadel is in full view.  
          It’s the biggest space station Shepard has ever seen, to the point of defying reality. It dwarfs even the mass relays. The floating metropolis consists long, narrow segments like the petals of a flower, joined by a thick ring at one end.  
          “Holy crap!” Ashley rushes forward, closer to the wide helm windows, and cranes her neck. “Look at them all!”  
          The traffic of starships around it is immense. Models from every race imaginable go back and forth in an endless cycle of docking and departing. After the empty expanse around Eden Prime, the heart of the galaxy looks decidedly busy.  
          “Supposedly… if any trouble were to start up, it can all close up like a flower,” Joker says, right on cue. “And since that baby’s Prothean made, nobody’s getting inside if it’s like that.”  
          “Oh… what the hell?! That one there! That ship is huge!” Ashley closes in on the portside window. A massive ship cruises amid the traffic, ignoring the routes the standard transportation follows. Its design is smooth and flowing, with long fins arcing off the top and bottom of the main hull. “That thing could roll up the Normandy without breaking a sweat!”  
           _“Destiny Ascension._ The Citadel flagship. Asari-only crew.” Joker rattles off the facts. “And… you know… size isn’t everything.”  
          For the first time since waking, Shepard honestly smiles. “Feeling a little defensive, Joker?”

          Udina paces back and forth. The red of his face contrasts nicely with the gray of his pattern-bald hair as he violently wrings his hands. “This is outrageous! You’d be singing a different tune if it was a turian colony being attacked!”  
          On the opposite side of his office is the Council – present as holograms, at least. The three individuals are the sole ruling body of the galaxy.  
          The asari councilor purses her lips. “The turians do not establish colonies in Terminus space. It’s lawless; outside our jurisdiction. Humanity was aware of this.” Asari look uncannily human – save for the blue skin tones and crest of stiff tentacles in the place of hair. And the thousand year lifespan. And the fact that the entire race is feminine mono-gendered, and each and every one has immense biotic power.  
          So perhaps not so human as they seem.  
          “We have an officer of Citadel Security investigating since the Normandy first reported in,” the salarian adds. Bipedal, thin, and distinctly amphibian, the councilor blinks his enormous eyes. “For both your attacked colony… and our dead Spectre.”  
          The third councilor – the turian – says nothing. The glower he’s shooting at Udina could kill.  
          “And?! What has he found?” Udina stops pacing to face them head on. “We were attacked, councilors! I think that would warrant some kind of swift action –”  
          “The findings will be discussed at the hearing, and not a moment sooner.” The asari councilor nods curtly. “Good day, Ambassador Udina.”  
          The holograms blink out.  
          “Anderson! Did you have to bring the whole ground team?” Udina turns on the group without missing a beat. “Dragging your soldiers through the Presidium like it’s a damned circus!”  
          Anderson opens his mouth to answer, but Udina’s not even close to done. “On top of everything that happened, you have to come limping back here accusing Saren Arterius? He’s their best agent!” Practically shaking, he begins pacing back and forth.  
          “Everything in that report is the truth,” Shepard says darkly.  
          “You! Shut your mouth, Commander –” Udina halts right in front of her, fuming. He points accusingly. “You blew it – your chance to Spectre candidacy. That mission couldn’t have been botched worse! The hero of the Skyllian Blitz – some aspirant you turned out to be!”  
          Shepard clenches her jaw and stares him down.  
          “Udina. I stand behind Shepard and her crew.” Anderson steps between them. He places a careful hand on Shepard’s shoulder and gives her a glance.  
          Udina throws his hands to the air. “Well! That’ll sway the Council for sure!” He glares at Anderson, chest heaving. “Our only hope is this C-Sec officer. If he doesn’t find anything, we’ll be ruined. Humanity’s chance at a spot on the Council will be down the drain for good.”  
          Humanity’s spot on the Council. _A spot Udina wants very badly._  
          The volume of his voice lowers as he finally runs out of steam. “The hearing is where C-Sec will present its findings. All of you report to the Citadel Tower. I’m not going to the chopping block by myself.”

          Shepard meets Ashley and Kaidan outside the office. They have sympathetic looks on their faces.  
          “We could hear him from out here,” Kaidan says.  
          Ashley crosses her arms. “I fucking hate politicans.”  
          “We’re moving out, guys.” Shepard waves them on. “Ignore Udina. If he’s what it takes to get to the bottom of this, then he can yell all he wants.” Deep down, she still wants to slug him in the jaw. She doesn’t voice this, but she definitely fantasizes about it.  
          Udina’s office is one of the many in the Embassies. Every race that doesn’t have a spot on the Council – so all of them minus three – seats their power here instead of the Tower. As such, even two steps out in the hall they begin passing beings of every shape and size. The various denizens of the galaxy barely give the human trio a second glance.  
          Ashley, however, watches every one that passes with barely checked astonishment. The short, squat volus in their pressurized suits; the quadruped massive-bodied elcor, moving like slow beasts of burden; the hanar, who looked for all intents and purposes like giant floating jellyfish. As the three of them leave the embassies out into the open space of the Presidium, Ashley’s eyes are wide.  
          “This your first time around the neighbors, Williams?” Kaidan voices what Shepard herself is thinking. “You seem a little… tense.”  
          “I’ve only served groundside. In human colonies,” Ashley says. “I mean, I know what they’re called, but other than that…” She clams up as they pass a couple of asari clerks. Once they’re at a safe distance, Ashley glances to the two officers. “What… about you two?”  
          “First time on the Citadel. That doesn’t mean our first time working with nonhumans,” Shepard says. They’ve reached the main courtyard of the Presidium. On the surface of the Citadel, the sky looks a normal blue. This segment of the station is halved by a decorative water pool running down the center; at either end are massive fountains. Like inside, various species congregate and travel over the paths and bridges.  
          “No different than working with non-nonhumans,” Kaidan says, smiling. “And if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask the Commander. Part of N7 designation means she had to learn about all of them. Might as well put her to work.”  
          “Oh, sure.” Shepard shoots him a look. “Gotta pull my weight on these missions, right?”  
          Despite Kaidan’s attempts, Ashley doesn’t look at ease. She’s studying the statue in the fountain closest to them. A bipedal, humpbacked creature, with a wide froggy mouth and sharp teeth. A bony plate covers the top of its head. “No different than humans? What about the krogan?”  
          The race depicted in the statue. Shepard nods to it. “When the rachni attacked the Citadel, the krogan drove them off. They were heroes. That’s why they get the statue.”  
          “But then they started the Krogan Rebellions. Tried to take over for themselves.”  
          “Yes, Williams, they did. But the turians put an end to it with the genophage. The krogan aren’t Citadel enemies anymore.”  
          “So who stops the turians?”  
          For a split second, Shepard and Kaidan share a look. _What the hell?_ “No one stops the turians, Chief. They’re allies to the Citadel. That includes the Alliance.”  
          Ashely says nothing, stares straight ahead.  
          Another glance surreptitiously with Kaidan. This is Williams’ first mission starside, and the distrustful attitude isn’t uncommon. _Nor is it exclusive to humans._ But it’s not a wise attitude for an Alliance marine, especially one on the Citadel – _and not one I prefer under my command._  
          At the other end of the station, the fountain’s statue is a model of a mass relay, suspended over the bridge that leads to the Citadel Tower. The three Alliance soldiers scrutinize it openly as they pass beneath it.  
          “It’s made of the same stuff the Citadel is.” Kaidan halts outright to observe the sculpture looming over them. “Why would the Protheans have a monument to their own creation?”  
          “Don’t know, Lieutenant.” Shepard glances back but doesn’t stop. “It’s a feat of technology. Probably changed their whole lives, like it changed ours.”  
          “True enough. I swear it’s making my teeth itch.” Kaidan hustles a few paces to catch back up.  
          Near the end of the bridge, the path among the trees leads to the Citadel Tower, home of the Council. Shepard glances up at it as they close in. The hearing concerns an attack on a human colony, a Prothean artifact, and a dead Spectre. What is she going to say? Anderson seems convinced, but now Shepard’s even less sure than before. Someone killed Nihlus, and a random dockworker claims Saren did it. _The name of the Council’s most decorated Spectre. Did he?_  
          Does she believe it?  
          “Ma’am?” Ashley’s voice breaks Shepard out of her reverie. “What… is that?”  
          Shepard doesn’t even have to guess what’s got her startled this time. Near the door to the Tower’s entrance is an alien. Insectile, green and many-legged, it barely reaches waist-height. It works on a terminal with a single-minded purpose, ignoring the passersby around it.  
          “It’s called a Keeper. Don’t get too close, Williams.” Shepard halts a few paces away from the door to the Tower. “They’re… like caretakers of the Citadel. They were here when the asari found it all those thousands of years ago.”  
          “Wait, they were already here?” Ashley edges a bit closer to it, frowning. “And that didn’t… bother anybody?”  
          “They don’t speak or anything.” Kaidan doesn’t bother to hide how much he’s enjoying her disbelief. “They just go around maintaining the Citadel. And if you mess with them, they die on the spot, so… no touching.”  
          Ashley looks back at them, eyes wide. It looks almost comical, paired up with the rifle slung across her back and the black Alliance uniform. Almost pleadingly, her eyes settle on Shepard.  
          “Ma’am,” she says. “Space is _so weird._ ”  
          Shepard smiles, open and honest. Williams is going to be all right. Everyone’s jumpy around nonhumans their first time. “Let the Keeper do his work, Williams. We’ve still got a hearing to go to.”  
          There are no further interruptions as the three make their way inside, through the lobby to the lone elevator that takes them to the active levels of the Tower. As it rises, however, Ashley once again begins to fidget.  
          “This hearing. We’ll have to talk to the Council? Like… tell them what happened?”  
          Kaidan only turns his head, keeping his hands behind his back. “Easy, Williams. It’ll most likely be Captain Anderson or the Commander doing the talking. We’re just there to look pretty.”  
          Ashley shifts the rifle on her back. “Good. I don’t wanna say anything.”  
          Shepard takes a few steadying breaths. Ashley has that dark tone to her voice again. But there’s no turning back now – the elevator dings and the doors open, revealing the Council’s inner chambers.  
          It’s a wide, open courtyard, filled with bubbling fountains and trees with soft pale blossoms. A ring of windows lets in the artificial light from the outside, but red curtained coverings give it a muted, rosy ambiance. Various clerks move about the space, talking in hushed tones.  
          “Here it is. Center of galactic power,” Kaidan mutters. “Kind of makes your head spin, if you think about it.”  
          Shepard leads them across the grounds. Hard to imagine, waking up every morning to go to work – coming to this place. The peace here borders on somnolence.  
          The grounds eventually narrow out to a single path, leading to the Council’s chambers. The way is blocked by two figures facing one another. In profile the long talons on their lower legs are clearly visible, like the spurs of a rooster. Turians.  
          Shepard wants to dismiss it as nothing, but as they get closer, the silhouettes reveal the black-and-blue uniforms of the Citadel’s peacekeeping force. Their words are so quiet that the flanging buzz of their voices is louder than the speech itself. Even so, Shepard knows an argument when she hears it.  
          “ – But I do have a lead. A solid one.” The left one motions quickly with his hand. “I just need more time.”  
          “This isn’t up for debate. The investigation is over. That’s an order.” The one on the right notices Shepard approach. Giving his associate one more glare, he stalks past the Alliance soldiers.  
          The remaining turian responds with an equally sullen look, watching the other go. His family tattoos are dark blue against his grey skin, running under his equally blue eyes and then along the length of his outer mandibles. He’s trained in sniping – the holographic glow of a Kuwashi visor covers his left eye.  
          “Commander… Shepard?” He looks Shepard up and down, nodding to the commander’s stripe on her arm. “Garrus Vakarian. I’m the officer assigned to investigate your case involving Saren.”  
          “Officer Vakarian – did you find anything?” Apprehension rears its ugly head. He’s going to say no.  
          “I did. Well, I’m on his trail. Saren can declare whatever he wants classified; it hasn’t been easy.” He pauses. “But… that was Pallin, the head of C-Sec. He has just informed me – my investigation is over.”  
          “Because…” Shepard can practically feel Ashley bristling behind her; _because Saren’s a turian and they’re protecting their own?_  
          “Because,” Garrus begins, “Saren’s a Spectre, and if he’s involved with this sort of thing, it’s going to make the Council look… bad. Pallin knows who signs his paychecks.” He glances behind himself, towards the Council chambers.  
          He looks back and meets her dead in the eye. “But I’m not giving up on this. He’s getting sloppy, so I must be closing in. What’s the human saying…? I feel it in my gut.”  
          Shepard crosses her arms. “Even though they shut you down?”  
          “He’s guilty. He’s not getting away with it. After your hearing, I’m hoping we won’t need my evidence to revoke his Spectre status.”  
          “You think it’ll be that easy?”  
          He seems genuinely confused. “You’re… an Alliance commander. Why wouldn’t they listen to you?” Striding past them, he gives Shepard a final nod. “Good luck, Commander Shepard. I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered.”  
          The three of them watch him go. Ashley says, “They’re shutting down C-Sec’s investigation? Is this a hearing or an ambush?”  
          “At least someone believes us?” Kaidan looks to Shepard. “It’s something.”  
          “It is.” Shepard waves them on. _Saren did it. He was behind the attack on Eden Prime._ The answer leaves her hungry for more. _But why? How did he get the geth to cooperate? He actually did it._ Optimism from an officer from C-Sec heartens her just a bit, even if the news doesn’t. “We’ll see if it’s enough.”

          “ – The attack on Eden Prime was carried out by the geth. That much is without question.” The asari councilor, like always, keeps a calm if somewhat condescending tone even in person. “We fail to see how that connects to Saren Arterius in the slightest.”  
          Shepard and her soldiers walk up the winding path to the visitor’s platform, facing the Council’s dais. The serene scenery, the pomp and ceremony – all signs of the asari’s influence as the original explorers of the Citadel. The awkward trip intensifies with each scowl Udina fires back at them, even amid the verbal battering he’s weathering.  
          “In addition, Pallin reports that his investigator found no evidence at all concerning Saren’s activities,” the turian councilor adds as Shepard reaches the platform to stands between Udina and Anderson. The comment bites twice – both bad news and a lie.  
          So much for optimism.  
          “I doubt anyone would have presumed otherwise,” says a gravelly voice from a comm on the side panel of the dais. “I resent being accused of attacking some rural human colony out in the middle of nowhere. But Nihlus was a friend – to allege that I killed him is unbearable.”  
          Shepard swallows hard and folds her hands behind her back. Saren’s over the comm? Williams was right – this is an ambush. The encouragement from the talk with Officer Vakarian evaporates. It seems silly in retrospect – she has nothing to report.  
          “But I would expect no less from David Anderson.” Saren’s voice bites past the speakers. “This is nothing new to him, after all. I can only offer slightly more surprise at the abysmal failure of Claire Shepard: I _would_ expect more from the so-called hero of the Skyllian Blitz. Especially involving something as precious as Prothean artifacts.”  
          Shepard sees her opening. “How did you know about the artifact?”  
          “I _said_ Nihlus was an old friend, Commander.” His tone drips with derision. “When he died, his reports passed on to me, as per his wishes. He had such high hopes for you. The truth was something much more disappointing.”  
          “Are the personal attacks another perk of being a Spectre?” Shepard fires back loudly. _Stupid, stupid_ – she should have just kept her mouth shut. The anger is so white-hot it tingles her fingertips. With her hands still behind her back, she squeezes the feeling back into them. Her subordinates can see the reaction, but she doesn’t hide it. Anything to keep composure.  
          Her patience is further tempered when the salarian councilor steps forward, clearing his throat. “Saren. Judging Shepard is not the point of this hearing.”  
          “This hearing has no point!” The snarl is shocking – a show of emotion not usually displayed by a turian. “The humans are just wasting time, like they always do.”  
          Udina is red-faced, obviously not trusting himself to speak. Anderson is silent, head bowed. For her part, the fury in Shepard scalds against her chest. She remembers the C-Sec officer – _he’s getting sloppy, so I must be closing in_ – and it condenses, hardens into something with more direction.  
          “You can’t hide behind the Council forever, Saren.” Shepard’s voice is calmer, if spat through clenched teeth. Let him have his jabs – her next move is already clear before her. It’s a fitting end to the hearing –  
          “Commander Shepard had direct contact with the Prothean artifact. “ Anderson steps forward. His voice is sensible, level.  
          Shepard looks up to him sharply. No no no…  
          “She received some sort of information from it, in the form of a vision. It contained destruction, war. With this in mind – ”  
          “Ha! We’ve reached a new level of absurd,” Saren says through the comm. “We’re allowing dreams as evidence now? How can I defend myself from this?”  
          “This hearing has decided that the Systems Alliance, corresponding with the C-Sec investigation, has afforded no evidence to their accusations.” The asari councilor steps forward and narrows her eyes. “Thus, the Council hereby denies the Alliance petition. You are all excused.”  
          Her tone affords no argument. 

          “This was a mistake! Every last moment!” The tranquil aura of the Tower does enough to keep Udina’s volume down. It does nothing for his rage, conveyed in the acid hiss of every word. “Bringing you was the worst of it! What the hell was I thinking?!”  
          “The captain?” Shepard asks. It must look comical, a handful of humans in a corner of the Tower squabbling amongst each other. She looks to Anderson. “Is there… something I don’t know?”  
          “Saren and I have past history,” Anderson sighs. “I worked with him, long ago. He sabotaged the mission. The hearing then was… very similar.”  
          “And that bias swayed them out of our favor!” Udina says. “On top of our illustrious Commander bandying insults with him like two children on a playground! No wonder humanity’s seen as such a farce!” He points dramatically at Anderson. “We have to plan our next move, contain the fallout from this. As for you, Shepard –”  
          “I have a lead.”  
          It stops him cold. “You do?”  
          “I do. I need to find a C-Sec officer, a turian named Garrus Vakarian. And it can’t be through official channels.”  
          Udina’s eyes narrow, but he’s calculating. “Be sure, Commander. Very sure. So help me –”  
          “I’m sure.” She projects her most capable demeanor – N7, hero of the Blitz, Alliance Commander. Not a marine who cataclysmically failed her critical mission.  
          He stares her down for a few moments longer. Shepard’s sure he’s going to order her back to the Normandy. Finally he says, slowly and deliberately, “There’s a C-Sec officer by the name of Harkin. One of the few human officers, until he was recently suspended for… multiple charges. He may have information for you.”  
          Anderson practically fidgets. “Harkin’s a disgrace. He won’t have anything.”  
          “He owes the Embassy for covering him, and he knows it,” Udina says. “She needs an unofficial channel, and this is as unofficial as it gets.” The scheming has calmed Udina considerably. “Shepard. I’ll message him through omni-tool, let him know you’re coming. Try Chora’s Den, the nightclub in the wards. Like as not he’ll be there. I can’t promise he’ll be sober.”  
          Having a plan of attack – it feels wonderful. It will probably end in disaster, but for now, the momentum is comforting. “Right. I’m taking Alenko and Williams. I’ll report in when I find something.”  
          As she departs, her two fellow marines fall in step behind her. Ashley mutters under her breath, “I fucking hate politicians.”

          The sea of stars waxes into sight, and streaks of light follow the ships coming to and fro. From this view, in this light, the entire length of each arm is visible. The closely packed buildings, the throngs of skycar traffic, myriads of signs and billboards for as far as the eye can see. The Citadel is a settlement bigger than any city, filled to the brim with every race known to the galaxy. The sight of the entire station stretching out among the stars – it seems a miracle that it even exists.  
          “Man. Makes Jump Zero look like a portable john,” Kaidan mutters.  
          “That your… professional opinion, sir?” Ashley says, and laughs at the look she gets.  
          Shepard says nothing as they keep going. Garrus Vakarian is somewhere in that expanse. Her answers are with him.  
          The paths and walkways weaving throughout the Citadel are orderly, convenient – the Protheans knew how to build an accessible station. Their trail eventually leads them deeper inside the Wards, away from the surface of the station arms. In the wash of artificial light, the bass of the nightclub is felt before being heard at the far end of the narrow alley they find themselves in.  
          “I guess we’re here,” Ashley says as they navigate the winding walkway to Chora’s Den. “Where’s all the people? There’s not even a bouncer.”  
          She’s right – the area is deserted. The distant sign above the door lights up in neon purple – a silhouette of a shapely asari lounges across the top. But there’s no sign of patrons.  
          Shepard strides forward without slowing. “Just means there’s no complications getting inside –”  
          A shot cracks out somewhere between them. Shepard throws herself to the ground, already unfolding the sniper rifle off her back. “Kaiden! Drop ‘em down!”  
          The pipes, shafts, and offshoots in the alley afford enough cover to disrupt the snipers. In the ventilation pipes above them, the white-blue light of biotics envelops the shooters, dragging them down to the walkway level. On the way down, one gets peppered by an assault rifle burst.  
          “Good job, Williams,” Shepard says as she lines the other up. He’s falling in slow motion in the sight of her scope, then her finger pulls the trigger and he’s done. The glow fades from around the third, who scrambles for cover.  
          “Shit. Ma’am. Lost my grip.”  
          “It’s fine, Alenko. We can take care of it.” Shepard loads the next thermal clip as she crawls down the length of the path. She stops before she reaches her next cover point and primes a tech grenade from her hardsuit. Launching it in the general direction to where the last gunman hides, she calls back. “Frag out!”  
          “Aye aye!” Without hesitation Ashley pokes her head up, aiming the rifle just after the grenade detonates. Ashley’s kinetic shield crackles as it deflects one of the bullets and frags from the grenade. Kaidan follows, catching the gunman in the shoulder with a pistol shot. One last burst from Ashley’s gun, and the final assailant is dead.  
          “Holy hell.” Kaidan shakes his head. “Is everyone all right?”  
          “Fine. Shit.” Ashley holsters the rifle across her back, panting. “Are we going to get attacked everywhere we go?”  
          Shepard walks down the path to the first dead body, rolls it over with her foot. A human. Further down the path, two turians lay dead.           There’s no uniform, only a hodgepodge of armor. The guns, however, are expensive. Top of the line.  
          “Mercenaries.” It’s a guess, but she’s confident. “Mercenaries given very good toys.”  
          “Saren.” Ashley glowers down at the bodies. “So, he just gets off the comm and immediately starts ordering hits on us?”  
           _He’s getting sloppy, so I must be closing in._ The sniper rifle condenses back into it compact state, and Shepard slings it across her back. “It means we’re on to him. We’re a threat.”  
          “Commander. Think Officer Vakarian is safe?” Kaidan asks.  
          “He’d better be. Let’s go.” Shepard walks the remaining few feet to the entrance of the nightclub, throwing open the door.  
          The various patrons of the club seem unconcerned that a bloody firefight commenced just outside. The central bar is surrounded by various platforms, showcasing sultry, dancing asari.  
          “Oh. So this one of _those_ kind of clubs.” Ashley puts her hands on her hips. “Here we are, so far away from where humanity began, and here’s a place filled with men drooling over asses shaking on a stage.”  
          Shepard scans the dark expanse, keeping on the move. People drinking, laughing, intently watching the dancers – men of every race are represented in the barstools and booths. They pass a hallway that leads somewhere deeper in the club, and –  
          “Get the hell out of here, Wrex. It’s never gonna happen, and you know it.”  
          A voice, throaty and guttural. Sounds like a krogan. Shepard turns, alarmed. Sure enough, the bulky frames of two krogan are just visible in the darkness of the hallway beyond.  
          “Why am I talking to you? Why can’t Fist come out and face me?” A second voice, even deeper and rougher.  
          The smaller of the two silhouettes stands his ground. “I said leave, Wrex. C-Sec is already on their way. This little stunt is over.”  
          “Oh, no. This is just beginning.” The bigger one moves back out to the main section of the club. He’s massive – humpbacked like he is, Shepard’s eye level is only to his chin. Even for a krogan he’s conspicuous – both his cranial plate and his eyes are colored blood red, and three deep scars run parallel down the right side of his face.  
          He pushes through Shepard and her squad, barely giving them a passing glance. “Sorry, humans. Not today.”  
          “Er. What?” Kaidan looks to Shepard.  
          “Don’t know. Not our problem.” Shepard walks the rest of the way around the perimeter. Especially not involving krogan. It would be nice to return to the Normandy with the whole squad intact.  
          She doesn’t have to search for much longer. In a corner booth is a human man slumped over a table, surrounded by empty bottles and half-eaten pretzels. If he were tucked away in some bar on Earth, he’d look like a native – minus the rumpled blue-and-black C-Sec uniform half-buttoned down his body.  
          Shepard approaches him, sizing up the level of sleaze. “Harkin? They… let you keep the uniform?”  
          “Said they didn’t want it back,” he slurs without moving. His hand twitches around a bottle of beer. “Didja… wha?” He slowly looks up, eyes blearily focusing on Shepard. “Oh. Holy shit, look at this. You can really fill out a uniform.” He straightens and grins. “Come and have a seat.”  
          “I’ll pass.” She crosses her arms. “You are Harkin, right?”  
          “You bet. Shit. If I knew marines looked like that, I’d have joined the Alliance instead of wasting time with C-Sec.”  
          Her eyes narrow at the thought. “Harkin, you received a message from Udina. I’m looking for a C-Sec officer. A turian named Garrus Vakarian.”  
          “Message from Udina?” Harkin squints at her. “Haven’t even activated the omni-tool in the last two days. Garrus… was put on the Saren investigation, I heard…” He trails off, thinking aloud. “Oh! Hah! You’re with Anderson’s crew, aren’t you?” Chortling, he raps the beer bottle up and down on the table. “So, you know the secret?”  
          Shepard takes a deep breath. The mercenary attack, the hearing, Udina’s temper tantrums, the Council’s politics – her patience withers to nothing. “Harkin. I asked you. About Vakarian.”  
          He giggles, taking a swig. “Anderson was the shoe-in to be the first human Spectre. What a shame, am I right?” His tone suggests he thinks otherwise.  
          “What? Anderson…? I never heard that.”  
          “Ohhhhh…” Harkin grins at her over the top of the bottle before taking another drink. He exhales noisily. “Didn’t know that, didja?”  
          Against her better judgment, she asks, “What happened, then?”  
          “That captain – with more medals than he has chest – he screwed up the mission. Saren was his… his observer. His witness. Anderson claimed during his hearing that Saren sabotaged it.”  
          “How does someone like you know all this?”  
          “I worked for C-Sec. They work for the Council. You hear things.”  
          “And it’s not classified in any way? You can just tell anyone you want?”  
          “Oh, it’s classified, but what’s the worst they can do, fire me? Secrets are like herpes, sweetie. You got ‘em, might as well spread ‘em around.”  
          The noise behind Shepard signals that Ashley caught that particular comment. It sums up Shepard’s feelings fairly well. “Look, that’s fascinating, but are you going to help me or not?” She wants to slam her hand down on the table, but there’s a healthy splatter of grease over most of it. _How long has he been pickling here? _  
“Bleh. Looking for Vakarian.” He looks down suddenly, swaying a bit where he sits. “That turian’s a hothead. Thinks he can make a difference. The world’s gonna break him sooner or later. Guys like him don’t mesh well with ugly reality.”  
          Nonplussed, Shepard shifts her weight from one foot to another. Poetic for a drunk. She’s just formulating what to say next when Harkin looks back up at her.  
          “Supposedly he had something coming from some low-income med clinic. Run by a human lady named Michel. That’s all I know.”  
          It only raises more questions, but Shepard knows better than to keep pressing. “Clinic run by Dr. Michel.” She steps away, not bothering with niceties.  
          Harkin bothers. “Later, sweetie! I’ll be waiting here when you’re done!”__

          “Ugh. What a slob.” Ashley mutters to herself as they leave the nightclub.  
          The three bodies still lie scattered in pools of their own blood. If left alone long enough the Keepers will be out to collect them, take them to who knows where. Maybe Ashley was right – space is weird. Being born on a colony in Terminus space, Shepard’s never really thought about it.  
          “Well, ma’am?” Ashley continues. “Do you think it’s true? Anderson was supposed to be the first human Spectre?”  
          Before she can answer, Kaidan says, “I doubt it. Harkin’s a drunk.”  
          The usual humor is gone. Shepard halts and turns to look at him. “Lieutenant?”  
          “Commander.”  
          She eyes him up and down, then ventures, “L2?”  
          “Yes ma’am. I won’t let it interfere –”  
          “I know. I’m dismissing you to go back to the Normandy.”  
          He stiffens. “Commander. I don’t need to – ”  
          “Alenko. That’s going to get worse before it gets better. Go back to the Normandy, see Dr. Chakwas. Williams and I will be fine.”  
          He hesitates, not wanting to leave but clearly miserable. “Aye aye, ma’am. I’m sorry for the trouble.”  
          “No trouble, Alenko. You’re with us in spirit.” He takes the opposite way down the footpaths amid the station, back towards the Presidium. On second thought, perhaps she should have sent Williams with him, just to make sure he gets back…  
          “Commander? Something wrong with Lieutenant Alenko?” Ashley says.  
          “He’s a biotic. The psychic powers thing?” Shepard says. “They have these neural implants, called bio-amps. You can see it behind his ear. It expands biotic power, but the early ones the Alliance made were pretty unreliable. His gives him migraines. The bedridden kind.”  
          “Oh. Raw deal,” Ashley says. “I mean… damn. Can’t he get it, like, taken out or replaced or something?”  
          “It’s better than most L2s. Blackout memory loss and grand mal seizures are the usual symptoms. Messing with it after the fact involves full-fledged brain surgery, so Lieutenant Alenko has elected to leave his in. His choice.”  
          Ashley says nothing, ruminating over it all. Shepard waves her on. “This is old hat for Alenko. We’ve got a Spectre to take down.”

          The clinic is tucked away in a dead-end corner of the Citadel, facing a particularly steep drop until the next level down. Shepard eyes it warily. There’s not a soul in sight, but after everything, it would be foolish to assume anything.  
          Unholstering the heavy pistol, she motions to Ashley, who follows behind her silently. At this point, the only advantage they have is the element of surprise. It’s been almost an hour since leaving the Council tower – factoring in travel time and the little detour with Harkin. At this point Vakarian is probably long gone.  
          “If that officer comes back, you’re gonna turn him away, right?” A man’s voice is clear from inside the building. Shepard’s insides twist, and she resists the urge to rush inside.  
          A woman’s reply, hurried and too quiet to discern. The man speaks again. “I don’t care what you say. If he comes by, we’ll know who told him. You should –“  
          Shepard kicks open the door in one violent motion, swinging herself inside. The scene presents itself down the barrel of a huge pistol. “Freeze. Systems Alliance.”  
          “Shit!” There’s five men, scattered around the one-room clinic, a former warehouse of some sort. The roof is high and crossed with wide ducts, and there’s a mess of medical supplies –bandages, syringes and the like – strewn about the floor. The closest man has a gun to the woman’s head. “Alliance?” His voice is a desperate bark of laughter. “This doesn’t concern you, pig. Get lost before –”  
          A single gunshot, and the man’s temple shatters in a red burst. The woman screams, throwing herself to the ground, and the battle begins.  
          Shepard’s mind reels – that shot had come from nowhere. But there’s no time to ponder her good luck. The men duck behind the shelves and counters holding more supplies and equipment. Crouching behind the makeshift reception counter, Shepard returns fire next to Williams. A shootout in a medical clinic? Nothing will surprise her at this point.  
          The men – all human – last longer than the three attackers outside Chora’s Den – but there’s five of them, and Shepard’s down one biotic. Another is felled by Shepard’s mysterious support – the reload time, the force of the shot, the precision – it’s a sniper. What a random sniper is doing hiding in the shelled out warehouse-turned-clinic, Shepard is very interested to know.  
          As the last man falls, gurgling, Shepard’s already standing and moving to the prone, trembling woman. “Dr. Michel?” Shepard says gently, holding out her hand. “Are you hurt?”  
          “N-no. I’m…” She reaches up and grabs the offered hand tight, allows herself to be pulled up. “Thank you so much. I thought I was…”  
          “Thanks for the distraction, Commander Shepard.” Someone approaches from the darkness of the back. Just hearing the voice, Shepard already knows the identity of her benefactor.  
          “Officer Vakarian.” She resists the urge to offer her hand. For a turian, even a handshake is too intimate from someone like her. Instead she nods to the first body down, still lying near where Michel hid. “That was a beautiful shot.”  
          He nods. “Eh. I was just lucky.”  
          “They came back, right after you left,” Michel speaks quickly to Vakarian, still clutching Shepard’s hand. “It’s about that girl, just like you thought –”  
          Shepard blinks. “Whoa, just a second. Can I get brought up to speed, here?”  
          Garrus looks sympathetic, at least as much as Shepard can tell. “The Council hearing didn’t go well, I take it?”  
          “A goddamn bushwhack,” Ashley snorts under her breath.  
          A quick shiver of Garrus’ mandibles –he has no idea what she just said but he’s too polite to say it. “I’m not sure it could’ve gone any worse,” Shepard admits to him. “They had Saren over comm and everything.”  
          “Guess I should’ve known better. It was a good thing I kept up the investigation, then.”  
          “What did you find?” Shepard asks. She’s gone too long without answers. Ashley, too, seems eager, walking forward to stand beside her commander.  
          “There - there was the girl who came by my clinic. A quarian girl,” Michel speaks up.  
          “A quarian.” Shepard pauses. An alien race of nomads, with such a weak immune system they spent their lives in environmental suits. Also: the creators of the geth. “Huh. She’s a long way from the Migrant Fleet.”  
          “Yes. She was being hunted. She asked to contact the Shadow Broker for protection.”  
          “Who’s the Shadow Broker?”  
          “An influential underworld kingpin, with contacts all over the galaxy,” Garrus says. “Almost legendary among the lawless types, more powerful than he seems. Espionage, intrigue, assassinations. The usual.”  
          The Citadel has organized crime? _You learn something new every day._ “So…?”  
          “The quarian said the person hunting her was a Council Spectre,” Michel says.  
          Oh. It changes everything. Shepard looks to Garrus. “That Spectre is Saren, isn’t it? How do we contact this Broker guy and find her?”  
          “No,” Michel answers. “I… the only agent of the Broker I know of is Fist, the owner of a nightclub here on the Citadel – called Chora’s Den. I sent her there.”  
          “And Fist’s been bought out to kill her,” Garrus adds. “By our friend Saren. He betrayed the Broker.”  
          “Then the quarian’s headed for a trap. She’s playing right back into Saren’s hands,” Shepard says. “My squad and I have already been shot at by hired guns. Before this little episode, I mean.” She motions to the bodies on the floor. “In front of that very nightclub, coincidentally enough. Looks like we’re heading back to pay Fist a visit. Find out where this girl is.”  
          “It wasn’t too long ago. Right before your hearing,” Garrus says. “Hell, she might still be there.”  
          “All right. I’m sorry you got caught up in this, doctor. It’ll be worked out shortly.” She glances back to Williams. “Guess we’re heading all the way back. Let’s get a move on –”  
          “Commander.” Garrus takes a step forward, still cradling the sniper rifle. “I have a request of you.”  
          “Yes?” She’s antsy to get going, but she stops anyways. She at least owes him that much.  
          His mandibles give a quick twitch. “Commander, this is your show, I’m not challenging that. I mean no disrespect, but… just allow me to come along. I want to help you take down Saren.”  
          The shock in the room is palpable. It hits her – he’s not wearing his uniform, only the standard civilian armor turians always seem to favor. “Officer, I thought they shut down your investigation.”  
          “They did.”  
          “I… mean no disrespect either, but are you allowed to just up and leave like that? On top of chasing a suspect against a superior’s orders?”  
          “It’s not allowed, but I’ve already made that choice.” He glances to the bodies at their feet. “Just going this far is insubordination against Pallin. Either I quit now or I get discharged when I report back in.”  
          “Discharged? Seems a bit harsh for an offense like that.”  
          “It would be harsh if it was my first. We’re on… nine, by now, I think.”  
          “That is… impressive, Officer Vakarian.” Shepard looks him over. “If it means this much to you, I won’t turn down your help at all.”  
          He visibly relaxes. “Thank you, Commander. I won’t let you down.”

          Back outside, Shepard stalks down the streets of the Citadel. She’s sans a biotic but plus a turian – it’s going to be a strange day. Ashley offers no opinion, but Shepard might be able to guess what’s on her mind.  
          Officer Vakarian isn’t so easy to read. He moves with the practiced ease of someone who knows these streets well, sometimes moving ahead to guide them down some new street or footpath. Shepard’s happy to let him lead – the faster they get back to the club, the better. Having someone along that knows the Citadel is a welcome addition.  
          “Officer.” Ashley finally speaks up – to the nonhuman, no less. “You handled yourself in that firefight. Are you ex-military?”  
Shepard’s not sure if she should speak up – Ashley’s being curious and decidedly civil, but that question betrays her ignorance.  
          “I’m a turian, Williams,” Garrus answers amicably. “We’re all ex-military. Mandatory service starts at fifteen.”  
          “Oh.” Ashley says nothing. This apparently gives her something to think about.  
          “I’ve worked with the Alliance here and there. If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t see a lot of women in combat roles with you guys.”  
          Ashley throws a halfhearted smile, just for a moment. “Well. Guess it took us longer than other people to prove we know how to hold a gun.”  
          “After seeing you and your Commander back there, I don’t think the problem was with your skill. Glad to be along, Williams.”  
Shepard silently thanks him for the affability even with Ashley’s obvious distance. If what she’s said is true – only served groundside, never with aliens – then the learning curve on the Citadel is going to be a little high.  
          Across the street, a good-humored ruckus raises as a group of Alliance soldiers spills out of a bar, obviously drunk. No one gives them a second glance. An elcor ambles down the street in a slow, four-legged pace. A salarian sits on a bench and eats something out of a tiny container, watching a vid on his omni-tool. Two asari window shop an electronics store – it’s all life as usual on the Citadel.  
          The trio rounds a corner, and the wind of the path starts to look familiar. It’s close enough to the club, but there’s no rumble of bass or neon glare. A group of four C-Sec officers stand in a loose group, and even the turians among them look fidgety and nervous. At the center is the scarred krogan from before, looking bored even surrounded by police.  
          “You know as well as we do why we’re here, Wrex.” The closest officer, a human, speaks firmly, but his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “You were seen making threats.”  
          “They weren’t threats,” the massive alien rumbles. “I’m going to kill Fist.”  
          “Do – do you want me to arrest you?!”  
          Wrex lowers his head, making eye contact with the officer. “I want you to try.”  
          “You’re – you’re not allowed – if you get within fifty feet –“ the officer stammers, but Wrex suddenly swings his wide armored head and looks directly at Shepard.  
          Her heart skips a beat or six as the krogan shoves his way out of the ring of agents, heading straight for her. The C-Sec officers lose interest alarmingly quickly as Wrex leaves them behind.  
          “Ma’am?” Ashley whispers as the distance closes, very quickly. Shepard doesn’t answer; only stands her ground, stares him down.  
“Well. We just keep running into each other, human commander.” He stops before her, just a little too close for comfort. “And always near this nightclub, too. Who are you?”  
          “Shepard –”  
          “Commander Shepard?” He looks her up and down. “You were at the Skyllian Blitz – whole platoon of batarians held off at one pass with just you and a sniper rifle.” It’s not said in disbelief or awe. It’s simply new information he’s processing.  
          “Urdnot Wrex.” He offers his hand suddenly.  
          For a split second Shepard flounders – it’s usually her accommodating the aliens and not the other way around – but she grabs his hand nonetheless. His grip is firm, polite, and not nearly the bonecrushing strength he’s capable of.  
          Shepard eyes the last of the departing officers behind him. “It looks like we’re after the same person, Wrex.” She’s not sure how he’s going to handle competition, but it’s better to know now then later. Maybe. She braces herself, hopes the Williams and Vakarian are ready.  
          “Two Alliance soldiers and a random turian?” Wrex studies each of them. “Well. Looks like it really isn’t this chump’s day.”  
          Oh. Better than she thought. “I take it you haven’t gotten him yet?”  
          “Nope. Got the nightclub locked down, though. He’s probably got a good handful of hired goons waiting.”  
          “Great.” Shepard puts her hands on her hips. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. If only they’d known this the first time.  
          “So, you’re actually going?” Wrex looks to each of them again, an eager glint in his blood-red eye. “Got room for one more?”  
          “Ah – what?” Shepard blinks. “You want to come along?”  
          “Why wouldn’t I? We’re both going after the same person.”  
          Garrus looks to Shepard. “We’ll have better chances if we go together.” The message between the lines: _And not competing with a krogan in the process._  
          “Let’s get a move on, then,” Shepard says. “Before those C-Sec officers come back.”  
          “Commander.” Ashley steps forward. The stony look on her face betrays her mood. In the presence of a krogan, Shepard can only hope she watches what she says. Ashley hesitates a moment more, then says, “Requesting permission to return to the Normandy.”  
          “Williams?”  
          “I’m worried about Alenko, ma’am.”  
          It’s not true – not wholly, at least. Reaching the limit of her patience with all the aliens, probably. “Permission granted. I’ll report in after the dust settles.”  
          “Ma’am.” Ashley salutes and pointedly does not look at the others as she leaves.  
          Garrus is again too polite to comment. Wrex says, “Huh. Too much krogan?”  
          Shepard’s already moving. “Don’t worry about her. It’s been one thing after another today.”  
          The next corner turns, and the darkened nightclub looms over them. The only light comes from the ambient signs nearby and the courtesy lights that track the pathway along the ground. Shepard takes cover in one of the side-paths, much near where she hid earlier fighting the assassins. A tap on her left arm activates the supercomputer chip embedded in her arm, and the holographic omni-tool appears in a blink.  
          She begins her work, accessing the security systems of Chora’s Den and one by one disabling them. Garrus and Wrex ready their weapons with a practiced ease in the dark next to her.  
          “Nice hardware,” Wrex says, pumping a shotgun. “What does an N7 commander want with a smalltime underworld pissant like Fist? And what’s the _turian_ doing here?”  
          “The N7 commander is trying to take down a rogue Spectre no matter what –“ Shepard disables another system. Almost done.  
          “ – and the turian is the C-Sec officer assigned to her case and got shut down to protect said Spectre.” Garrus spares a look around the corner, surveying their surroundings. “Why are you after Fist, then?”  
          “Heh. You two ever hear of the Shadow Broker? Fist here double-crossed a client of his. I’ve been hired to make him regret it.”  
          She’s on the last security protocol. “Yeah, heard a little about that,” Shepard says, distracted. “We need that client. Fist knows where she is.”  
          “Fine. I need to kill him.” Wrex shrugs. “Alliance commanders, out of uniform fuzz, rogue Spectres, Shadow Brokers. Sure is turning out to be a strange day.”  
          Shepard can’t argue that.


	4. A Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Developed some extra master/protege stuff between Anderson and Shep. Also limited the missions given at the end to just Liara so it's not such a big infodump. They'll be coming one at a time.

          The cushion of the booth explodes in stuffing just as the splatter of red blood flings across it. The man’s body crumples, and Wrex casually steps over it.  
          Behind him, Shepard and Garrus pick down the mercenaries with each sniper shot, bunkered down behind the counter of the bar. The club is dark and empty save for the armed men. They fight with the same caliber as the thugs from the clinic – not the practiced killers Shepard first encountered. Fighting without her soldiers has its own learning curve – Vakarian has a matter-of-fact ruthlessness – a shot to the head, move on to the next, while Wrex has a messy, devil-may-care method from behind his shotgun.  
          The gunfire stills and Shepard pokes her head up from the cover behind the bar. “Wrex?” He’s standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by bodies and various fixtures peppered with shotgun blasts.  
          “You’re tearing this place apart,” Garrus says to him, watching prudently from beside Shepard.  
          Wrex shrugs. “Fist’ll be dead in like ten minutes, tops. What does he care?”  
          Before either of them can answer, the door to the back flies off its hinges and flings across the room. Standing in the frame is a krogan, dressed in dark green battle armor. “Alright, assholes. Playtime’s over.”  
          Sucking in her breath, Shepard drops back down under cover and loads another thermal clip into the sniper rifle. Fighting a krogan is never a desirable turn of events. “I think we’re screwed, Vakarian.”  
          “Good thing we’ve got backup, Commander.” He’s already balancing his rifle over the bar counter. Wrex roars and the floor beneath them trembles as he charges. Another second and Shepard hears the sound of Garrus taking the shot.  
          “Get ‘em?” She lines up her sight as he crouches back down to reload.  
          “Yeah. He’s healing it up, though.”  
          “Damn krogan regeneration.” Past her rifle’s sight, Wrex’s shotgun blasts the other krogan almost point-blank in a bloody spray.           Thrusting his arms back, Wrex headbutts the other straight in the forehead, sending them both reeling back. As he staggers, Wrex raises his free hand. It trembles, and a hazy blue-white orb opens around the enemy, freezing him in place.  
          “Holy shit!” Shepard’s finger freezes at the trigger. Garrus looks up sharply from priming his rifle. Shepard lines the shot and takes it, catching the krogan in the side of the face. “Wrex just opened a warp!” She turns to look wide-eyed at the turian.  
          “Wrex is a biotic?!” Garrus pops up next to her to see for himself. The warp field is already fading, but their huge krogan has already loaded his next shot, pumped the shotgun, and fired.  
          The onslaught is enough – finally the mercenary falls. Wrex kicks the body and looks back to the human and turian, peeking over the bar. He jabs his finger at them. “Hah! You kids are impressed, huh?”  
          “That would’ve been handy to know,” Shepard says, standing and slinging the rifle across her back.  
          “You never asked. Does it matter? We got the bastard.”  
          “You…” Garrus stands too, eyeing the bloodstained corpse on the ground. “You’re willing to kill your own kind. Even with the krogan so close to extinction?”  
          A chill goes down Shepard’s spine. _What’s he thinking?_ That line of questioning, coming from a turian – it’s downright dangerous.  
          “Because of the genophage, right?” Wrex just looks bored. “For all the talk about honor, turians sure have never had it tested. Any krogan we face – are either stupid or on Saren’s payroll.” He kicks at the corpse again. “Killing the latter is business. Killing the former is a favor to the galaxy.”  
          “None of this is gonna matter if Fist gets away,” Shepard interjects, keeping her voice firm and even. Authoritative. “Let’s get a move on.” _What am I thinking, putting these two in combat together?_  
          The darkened hallways of the club are deserted, silent as a tomb. Deeper in the back, there is a singular door with a beam of light at the bottom, shadows of movement flitting left and right.  
          It’s locked, of course. Shepard could hack it with the omni-tool again, but the impatience grows too strong to be ignored, and the previous fight leaves her inspired. She motions to Wrex, flicking her hand to the door. He’s only happy to oblige her –with one lunging heave he knocks the door right out of the frame.  
          She swings through the door, pistol raised, riding the heady invincibility of having a krogan and a turian at her back.  
          It’s largely wasted.  
          A bony, shaved-headed human man cowers at the opposite side of the room, arms raised above his head. “Stop! Don’t! I surrender! I’ll do anything!”  
          “Shut up, Fist!” Shepard raises her voice over the pleading. “Tell me where the quarian went.”  
          “She – I sent her to meet with the Shadow Broker – ”  
          “He’s lying.” Wrex takes a step towards the man, shotgun raised. “The Broker only works through proxies. Even when he hired me.”  
          “No-no! The girl didn’t know that!” He cowers down into a smaller ball, shrinking back from the krogan. “She’s just in the alley just out back, with some guys of Saren’s. She’s –”  
          Beyond the emergency exit, shots ring out.  
          “Shit!” Shepard tears past the quailing man, shoving open the door. Garrus is right behind her – but Wrex is –  
          The shotgun blast roars out as Shepard exits. “What – what the hell?”  
          “Shepard, Wrex just shot him.” Garrus is priming the assault rifle as he strides beside her. “Dammit, he just shot Fist!”  
          “Just keep going! We’re out of time!”  
          Not three paces out in the alley, the firefight rages. A group of mercenaries – turians and salarians included – surround an overturned dumpster and fire. Their backs are to the door. In their hands, the expensive, superior firearms are plain to see.  
          No time to switch weapons – Shepard raises the pistol and fires, catching the nearest salarian clean in the back of his head. Then the next one, then the human –  
          The group finally realizes the counterattack and turns. Shepard and Garrus dive for cover, reloading and waiting for a moment to return fire. She doesn’t see Wrex anywhere, although admittedly she’s a little distracted.  
          “So – he just shot him?”  
          “Yeah – point blank.”  
          “Where the hell is he now?!”  
          “Don’t know, Commander. Maybe he left –”  
          Wrex comes charging out of the club’s back door, called by the siren sounds of the gunfight. He shoots a mercenary before finally retreating behind a wall outcrop to calmly load his weapon.  
          A flash from the other side of the alley – it’s light off the quarian’s helmet as she breaks cover to fire down her attackers. Shepard feels a strange surge of encouragement – _that’s right, fight back_ – then leans forward to eye Wrex. He’s hit, of course, rivulets of crimson dripping down his body and face. Around the edges of the wounds, his skin visibly knits itself back together.  
          “Wrex! You shot an unarmed man!” Garrus calls out to him.  
          “Sure did!” Wrex’s voice booms out over the battlefield.  
          One guy left. Shepard reloads, seeing the flashbang grenade land next to her foot. Shit. She lunges to the side, but as it explodes the white flash leaves a ringing in her ears and a wavy white afterimage covering most of her vision.  
          She does hear the faint last pistol shot as her hearing returns; from the quarian, judging by the distance of it. Her vision fades back to reveal Wrex standing over her, shotgun in one hand. While she’s down on her ass like this, he looks even bigger than usual.  
          He offers his free hand down to her. “I was hired to kill Fist. And I don’t leave jobs half-done.”  
          She looks up at him. In the shadows she can barely see his face, his blood-red eyes. “He surrendered.”  
          He bobs his hand – _here, take it._ “I said I was going to kill him. Over and over.” Finally she grabs it. Wrex lifts her to her feet like she’s a rag doll. “And you two are still surprised when it happens? How clearer can I get?” He holsters the shotgun. “Dammit, I don’t get aliens.”  
          “Who are you people!?” A voice calls out, unmistakably female but with a mechanic, synthesized quality. The quarian.  
          “Systems Alliance –”  
          “Heh, speak for yourself.”  
          “ –Shut up, Wrex. I understand you’re being hunted by a Council Spectre?”  
          She finally peeks around the edge of the dumpster. The environmental suit is all plastic polymers and segmented metal, fitting her body like a second skin. It’s covered in purple cloth at the waist and bust, a semblance of clothes that she doesn’t need. The cloth raises in the back to form a cowl over the helmet, and past the darkened glass visor, Shepard can just barely see the outlines of narrow, glowing eyes, a face that looks only vaguely human.  
          “Um,” the quarian says. A light near the bottom of the mask alights while she speaks. “You’re not going to betray me too, are you?”  
          “I’m Commander Shepard. That Spectre after you is named Saren, and he may have attacked a human colony–”  
          “He did!” the girl rises hastily and hurries to Shepard. “Eden Prime, right? I can prove it!”  
          “See? Everybody’s happy.” Wrex stares down Shepard – she can feel it without even looking at him.  
          “We should… get out here, Commander,” Garrus adds gently. He’s still holding his rifle. “Who knows how many men Saren’s going to send.”  
          “Right. Will you come with me, miss? We need to go to the Alliance Embassy.”  
          The cowled helmet turns slightly – she’s taking in the commander’s stripe, the N7 insignia. Shepard doesn’t rush her. _You can trust me…_  
          Finally she nods to the marine. “I’ll go. Let me show the Alliance what I’ve found.”

          It’s nice to be back out in the faux sunlight, amid the serenity of the Presidium. No gunfights, no seedy nightclubs. The attacks here are political, which Shepard is ill-equipped to handle, but a break is a break.  
          The shouting, she doesn’t miss. In retrospect, the Alliance embassy is probably the loudest one here. Not that she’s been on the Citadel long, but none of the other ambassadors seem to employ volume with the fervor that Udina enjoys.  
          Maybe she’ll ask Vakarian about it later.  
          “What the absolute hell was going through your mind, Shepard?! Firefights in the wards! Traipsing around with some motley handful of aliens! You’re worse than Anderson!” Udina throws up his hands. “Answer me, Commander? What were you doing?!”  
          “My job, sir.” Wrex and Garrus stand on either side of her, and the quarian girl hides halfway behind her. It’s fortunate Udina’s office is so huge for the krogan alone.  
          Standing behind the desk, Anderson nods to her, behind Udina’s sight. “You found something, then?” The calm in his deep voice sounds strange after the ambassador’s tirade.  
          “Actually, I found someone,” Shepard says, shifting to the side. To the quarian, she says, “You can show Captain Anderson.” _And ignore the shrieking grandstander._  
          “I…” She steps out in front of Shepard, but stays close. “I’m Tali’Zorah nar Rayya. I left the Migrant Fleet on my Pilgrimage. It’s where we leave our birth ships, to bring back a gift to the group as an adult.”  
          Tali fidgets, wrings her hands together. “I found some geth on an uninhabited world. I thought it strange – the geth never leave the Perseus Veil sector. I managed to disable a few of them, and extract a memory core –”  
          “Impossible!” Udina shakes his head. “The geth destroy their own memory cores as they shut down. You can’t –“  
          “I wouldn’t be much of a quarian if I couldn’t do such a thing,” Tali says. “The geth are quarian creations, after all. It wasn’t perfect, either, but I did manage to get some auditory playback from the salvaged core.”  
          The omni-tool glows around Tali’s hand as she types in her commands. A second passes, then:  
          “Eden Prime was a major victory. The artifact they found has brought us that much closer to finding the Conduit.”  
          Even through the recording, the identity is clear.  
          “Saren.” Anderson’s calm is edged by something fiercer. “This is our proof. We’ve got it.”  
          “Sir, he’s speaking to someone. And what is this Conduit he’s talking about?” Shepard can’t share his satisfaction. The recording only raises more questions.  
          “More Prothean tech?” Anderson says, furrowing his brow. “Has to be.”  
          “Um. There’s more.” Tali inputs another command.  
          A second voice, female. Older and utterly unfamiliar. “And one step closer to the arrival of the Reapers.”  
          It’s said with such emphasis, such finality. Shepard crosses her arms. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”  
          No one says anything. _Guess not._  
          “The majority of the memory core is data about these ‘Reapers’,” Tali offers hesitantly. “The geth believe that they were a hyper-advanced race of synthetics who exterminated the Protheans, and that’s why they all disappeared.”  
          “A bunch of machines killed off the most advanced civilization the galaxy has ever seen,” says Udina, “and we’re only just hearing about them now? It’s a fairy tale.”  
          The artifact. Recalling the memory makes the images resurface, a little too vivid for Shepard’s liking. Was that the death of a civilization? Even as an allegory? A planet on fire. Deep breath, in and out. Push the vision back.  
          Garrus turns his head just slightly, studying her. She refuses to look at him.  
          “ – It doesn’t matter if it really happened or not,” Tali is saying. She’s found her backbone to face down Udina. “The data from the memory core is clear. The geth believe Saren can call back these mythical machines to purge the organics – _us._ It’s no surprise they’re helping him.”  
          “Well, none of this matters, because the Council is never going to believe this,” Udina says.  
          “No. We have our evidence. Saren was at Eden Prime, just like Shepard reported.” Anderson turns to face Udina head-on. “And the geth were with him.”  
          “True. Shepard, bring the girl. I’ll file an emergency appeal. Cite irrefutable evidence…” Udina’s muttering, back to scheming. Calm. He leaves the motley group standing in his office.  
          Exhaling slowly, Shepard looks to Tali. “Can I have a little more of your time?”

          Outside the expanse of the Citadel Tower, Wrex makes a noise deep in his throat. “I’m staying out here, kids. I’ll wait ‘till the hearing’s over.”  
          “Wrex?” Shepard cocks her head to the side. “Not enough gunfire for you?”  
          “Very funny, kid. I figure if I show up to this fancy meeting I’ll just sink your chances. Krogan and all. Just tell me how their faces looked when you incriminate their golden boy.”  
          Yet again, the mercenary catches Shepard off guard. “Wrex, I don’t think –”  
          “And yeah, not enough gunfire. Too boring.” He waves them on. “Have fun with your cranky ambassador.”  
          Nodding to him, Shepard once again climbs the steps to the lobby, into the elevator that will take her to the top. Instead of her squad, she’s trailed by a turian and a quarian – actually fitting, considering how connected they are to everything. The C-Sec investigator and the witness to the evidence. As the elevator rises, that old charlatan optimism creeps back, just like last time.  
          Garrus holds his head high. “The Council has to believe you this time,” he says, as if on cue. He sounds confident, almost cocksure.  
          “This was important enough to get me killed.” Tali fidgets, standing next to Shepard. “I would hope so.” Despite the synthesized quality of her mask’s speaker, her voice is flat.  
          “You don’t think it’ll work?” Shepard asks.  
          “I was just thinking… Maybe I should’ve waited outside with Wrex. This is where my ancestors pleaded with the Council for help after the geth uprising, three hundred years ago. They… they turned us down.”  
           _They did more than that._ Shepard knows the history. The quarian’s embassy had been revoked, and the Council had instituted a galaxy-wide ban on attacking the geth. Her heart goes out to the girl. “That doesn’t mean anything now,” Shepard says gently. “It was evidence you found. And I only found you because of Vakarian’s lead. Honestly I don’t know why I’m even going along to this.”  
          “Oh, no, Commander,” Garrus says. “Then I’d be the one having to face down the Council. Not going to happen. What’s the human saying?” He pauses. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

          The Council’s not happy.  
          Wrex would be disappointed – there’s no funny faces or temper tantrums. But they’re not happy – over Udina’s political grandstanding, over Shepard’s presence, or the presence of one of their own investigators, or the presence of one of the aliens considered the galaxy’s desperate vagrants.  
          Then Tali plays the recording from the core, and Saren’s voice is crystal clear, and he mentions Eden Prime, mentions the artifact. The silence falls, and Shepard wishes he was still on the comm so she could hear his excuses first hand. Her whole being hangs on the moment. _They can’t keep making excuses…_  
          “This evidence,” the asari councilor finally wrenches the words out of her mouth, “is indisputable. In light of this, we formally revoke Saren’s Spectre status, and all the privileges it affords.” The quiet stretches on, and then she adds, “And I will state my concern over the second voice. It is an asari Matriarch, Lady Benezia. A very influential biotic.”  
          “So Saren has powerful allies aside from the geth,” the salarian councilor says. “But I wonder over these Reapers that they seem so concerned with.” He looks straight to Shepard. “Did your… investigation shed any light on this?”  
          Shepard freezes in indecision. She swallows, keeping her unflinching parade-rest, and says, “The geth believe that the Reapers are an advanced synthetic race, with the purpose of eradicating organics.”  
          “Mmm.” He doesn’t appear convinced. “And the Conduit?”  
          “We… didn’t gain any information concerning that.”  
          “Bah!” The turian councilor leans forward on the dais, towards Shepard. “This is nonsense. Obviously Saren is using this Reaper fable as a front to manipulate the geth.”  
          “I agree, Councilor,” Udina interjects, taking a step forward. “Saren’s the issue here, not the geth. Will he be brought to justice? Revoking his status isn’t doing nearly enough.”  
          “Saren’s last comm originated from the Terminus Systems, human,” the turian sneers. “You don’t expect us to send an army to uncivilized space just to hunt down one man.”  
          “I expect justice!” Udina’s volume is raising dramatically, and he points at them with fire and brimstone. “Your own Spectre, attacking human colonies! How can you stand by –”  
          “Gentlemen!” The asari councilor’s tone jerks the argument to a halt. “There is a solution to this. Something to appease both parties.”  
          The turian councilor goes stone still, save for his mandibles, which flick like the tip of a cat’s tail. _Oh, he’s pissed._ “Absolutely not,” he says. “They’ve done nothing to deserve it. _She’s_ done nothing to – ”  
          “She has,” the asari replies. “This is the best kind of solution. This is a compromise.”  
          He says nothing in return, just glowers. She looks to the salarian councilor, who raises his chin slightly – a sign he agrees with her.           The picture of serenity, she turns to the audience on the podium and says, “Commander Claire Shepard. We – ”  
          For a moment or two Shepard doesn’t register what was just said to her. The words – they made sense, but maybe she didn’t hear right, or maybe –  
          “ – appoint you as the first human Spectre.”  
          She remembers to breathe. Then form the air into words. “I – thank you, ma’am. Thank you, all of you.”  
          “Spectres are not trained, they are chosen,” the salarian says. “Forged in the fire of service and battle. We have been watching you for some time, Commander Shepard. Do not think that Nihlus Kryik chose to observe you by his decision alone.”  
          “You faced heavy odds in your mission to Eden Prime, and in the face of those trials, you persevered and exposed Saren as a traitor,” the asari councilor adds.  
          Shepard’s insides twist – part of those trials had involved the protection of their own dirty agent. The councilor makes it sound as though it had been a deliberate test – _good job, wink wink._  
          The turian is still furiously silent, and so the asari finishes, “As our agent, we now send you to hunt down the defector, both as a Council Spectre and an Alliance Commander. May your path bring you victory, Shepard.”  
          With a tranquil grace, the asari councilor nods to her, and the three of them depart back into the inner chambers behind the dais.  
          The meeting is over.  
          For the first human Spectre, it’s a bit underwhelming, but Shepard’s glad that it’s over. The first human Spectre. Her. After the N7 ceremony, she’d felt different; relieved, exhausted, accomplished. This feels… almost like a sucker punch. Like retaliation. It was supposed to be done – she’d found the evidence, hand delivered it. She’d been scrambling to reel in a rogue Spectre, expose the truth of what happened on Eden Prime. Not being sent to chase after him alone with a wink and a nod.  
          But then again, she doesn’t know the whole truth – why Saren wanted the artifact, why an asari Matriarch is helping him, or how the Reapers fit in to all this. And she wants to know.  
          Maybe she’s not as done as she thought.  
          “Congratulations, Commander.” Anderson’s voice is calm and quiet behind her. She turns sharply. He’s standing in his officer’s uniform, watching her almost pensively. “No one deserves it more. That’s for sure.”  
          Waiting at the edge of the visitor’s platform are Garrus and Tali, looking just as stunned as she feels. She tries to formulate what she’s going to say – _Sorry, looks like this got a little complicated, thanks for the help though, see you around_ – when Udina whips past her.  
          “Well! Finally some headway in all this.” She knows he means the political prestige this gains him, not the Saren investigation. “There’ll be preparations to make. Calls to make. I expect Admiral Hackett will want to hear about this… and Mikhailovich.” He doesn’t look back. “Anderson. We have things to discuss as well.”  
          Anderson gives her an apologetic look as he departs. “Report back to the Normandy, Commander.”  
          “He… didn’t even thank you,” Tali says, watching Udina go. “After everything you did.”  
          “He’s a politician,” Shepard says. “Probably more to the point, he’s Udina.”  
          “Well. _We’re_ right behind you, Commander,” Garrus says.  
          She’s got her next mission briefing – although how she’s going to go about this is still woefully vague. Even assuming an N7 marine and a Council Spectre are evenly matched, there’s always the matter of the geth army to worry about. And the asari Matriarch. And the fact that he’s about fifty steps ahead of her.  
          Her two comrades follow her on the walk back out the door, now silent. Picking up on her mood, maybe. She half forgets that Wrex is still waiting for them outside the tower, leaning on the railing around the water pool that runs the whole span of the Presidium. He’s looking far out, to the krogan statue in the distant fountain.  
          Before they can speak Wrex turns. “So. Good news or bad news?”  
          “They made me a Spectre.”  
          “The… first _human_ Spectre,” Garrus adds.  
          “Hah! Let me guess – they sent you off to hunt down Saren. Do their dirty work for them.” Wrex laughs. “Congratulations, Shepard.”  
          “Um, thanks,” she answers. “You pretty much guessed it perfectly.”  
          “Eh. Just sounds like something they’d do.” He gets close to her again, almost in her face. In any other species it might seem belligerent, but she’s getting the idea it’s just a krogan thing.  
          “You’ve helped me, Shepard,” Wrex says, in words slow and clear. “I recognize that. The way I figure it, now you’re going to need some help chasing this bastard down.”  
          She blinks. “You’re offering to come with me?”  
          “No mistake, Shepard, you’re at the center of a storm. And I’m in between jobs at the moment – still waiting for my fee from the Broker for killing Fist. Even if you and the turian wouldn’t stop complaining about it.” He holds out his hand. “But I’m a mercenary. I don’t do it for free.”  
          It’s unbelievably arrogant – almost. Shepard reaches in a side pocket on her uniform and pulls out a single credit chit. “Done.” She slaps it in his hand.  
          Wrex throws back his head and laughs. “Dammit, Shepard. I like you.”  
          “Wait! Commander, I want to come too!”  
          “Tali?”  
          She grabs Shepard’s outstretched hand and clutches it tight. “I’m going to help you stop him. He’s using the geth – the creations of my people, and… and I – ”  
          “Don’t you have your Pilgrimage?” Shepard doesn’t retract her arm. “It’s like your rite of adulthood, if I understood it right. You can’t go back to your people until you complete it.”  
          “The Pilgrimage is supposed to show that we acknowledge the need of the greater good.” She grips Shepard’s hand harder. “How can I turn my back on this and go home in good faith?”  
          “You know, Commander,” Garrus says, “Saren might still be hunting her on principle. Where safer would she be than – ”  
          “Hush, Vakarian. I was going to say yes.” She shoots him a flat glare. Raised mandibles – the turian equivalent of a smile. “No need to look so pleased with yourself, either.”  
          “Wrex stole my thunder. I was stalling for time.”  
          “Wait. You mean to tell me all three of you are planning on going with me? You’re going to ask too?”  
          “Who’s asking?” Garrus says. “I already said I would help you take down Saren. And you agreed.”  
          “That’s… kind of a loose interpretation of how it went. Are you sure you won’t regret leaving like this?”  
          “Fighting a rogue Spectre with countless lives at stake, and no regulations to get in the way? I’d say that beats C-Sec. Besides, all I did was get the evidence that he’s guilty. Now I have to help bring him in.”  
          “Vakarian, I don’t want –”  
          “Look, can you two wrap up this… thing you’re doing?” Wrex says loudly. “Shepard, tell the turian yes and let’s go.”  
          “Back to the Normandy, your captain said,” Tali says. “An Alliance frigate. Are… we even going to be allowed on?”  
          “A little late to be worried about that,” Shepard says, leading the way. The more distance between her and Citadel Tower, the better. “I’ll claim you as independent contractors if I have to, but it won’t come to that. Anderson’s a good man. He knows I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

 

          The elevator to the docks opens, revealing Captain Anderson waiting for her at the connecting hangar. Udina stands beside him. They both look impassive – utterly foreign on Udina’s face, a bit more familiar on Anderson. When he sees her, the captain’s reserve shifts to something else, something somber.  
          She looks to the group behind her. _Not because of them._ “Go on, guys. I’ll meet you at the loading ramp.”  
          No one protests – even through the medium of human body language, even they can see that something’s wrong. She half expects to get some kind of remark about sending the aliens off to the Normandy, but instead, they only watch as she approaches. Furiously Shepard attempts to discern what’s going on. Anderson standing with his hands behind his back, and Udina watching with crossed arms. Dark and light.  
          Fine – she can crack first. “Sir?” she says to Anderson.  
          “David Anderson is resigning as Captain of the Normandy,” Udina says. “And relinquishing command to you.”  
          The adrenaline flash of shock is becoming a familiar feeling, along with that nauseating twist. “What’s going on?” She keeps her voice even, but the words are a little too clipped. _Anderson…_  
          “You’re the first human Spectre,” Udina continues, careful and rehearsed. “You’ll need resources to undertake this mission. It’s imperative that you succeed.”  
          Not for justice to Eden Prime, or to uncover whatever it is Saren’s planning. Not even for revenge. It’s to make him look good. Shepard knows this with a painful clarity. Her hands curl at her sides.  
          “I hardly see how this involves Anderson. What happened with me is no damn reason to – ”  
          “Shepard.” Anderson finally speaks in that deep, calm voice. “You answer to no one.”  
          She freezes, eyes wide. _What is going on – why won’t they tell me –_  
          “How I wish that were true.” Udina sighs heavily. “You’re human; I’ll always be stuck cleaning up your messes. As if I didn’t have enough work to do.” The look he gives her is almost disdainful, and he makes for the elevator back down to the Citadel. “You were Alliance before you even thought about being a Spectre, Shepard. Don’t ever forget that.”  
          Shepard’s – she’s not sure what she’s feeling. When she stepped through here before, she was just an Alliance Commander reporting in – yes, an N7 marine, but nothing like this. Now she’s a Spectre? In command of the Normandy?  
          “Shepard.” She realizes she’s alone with Anderson now.  
          “Sir.”  
          “This is a power play. I’m being… punished for how the meetings went with the Council. For how hard I pressed.”  
          The words come calmly, but Shepard can’t believe it. This is a decorated war hero. This man fought in the First Contact War. The first marine to receive N7 designation from the Interplanetary Combatives Training.  
          And Shepard knows – because one of the unspoken tests of the very program is to find out who nominated you. Even back then, the name she uncovered in her own file didn’t surprise her.  
          “That’s not… good enough, sir.” It’s all she can manage to say.  
          “Yes, it is,” he answers gently. “It was going to end like this no matter what happened. I saw to it that you would get some benefit from it.”  
          It wells in her like a geyser – shadows of the same storm she harbored when she first met him. Obstinacy, petty anger, petulance –           “And what if I don’t want it, sir?”  
          He smiles. “You do. She’s a good ship. With a good crew. You’ll do great things, and I don’t just mean this romp chasing Saren Arterius.”  
          She stares him down.  
          “I was supposed to be the first human Spectre, you know,” he says suddenly, conversationally. “I was practically a shoe-in. The observant mission was a formality, they told me.”  
          “The mission with Saren?”  
          “Yeah. He sabotaged it, killed a lot of people. Pinned it on me. I’m not sure… I ever really got over it.” He laughs a little, mirthlessly.  
          “I’m sorry, sir.” It’s vapid, but it’s all she can think of. Anderson’s done right by everyone he’s met. By no stretch of the imagination does he deserve this.  
          “Don’t be. I’m honored that you’re the one to erase my mistakes.”  
          “I won’t let you down, sir.”  
           _The glow displayed from the monitor, revealing her file. One line reads, ‘NOMINEE OFFICIATED BY:’ She reads the name over and over._  
          “I know you won’t. Because you still have me in your corner.” He raises his arm and begins typing instructions in his omni-tool. “I found out that this Matriarch Benezia has a daughter by the name of Liara T’soni. A researcher specializing in the Prothean civilization, if you can believe it.”  
          “That’s quite a coincidence,” Shepard says. Receiving a mission briefing from her captain – she’s back in familiar territory. She holds on to it fiercely.  
          “It is. I’m not sure how she’s tied to Saren, but it’s too much to pass up.” He looks up from his work. “I’ve sent you the coordinates to her last known dig, on a planet called Therum in the Artemis Tau cluster. Saren’s fallen off the map, but this isn’t done by a long shot. Find this Liara, and find out what she knows; about her mother, about Saren, about the Prothean artifacts they’re seeking.”  
          “Yes, sir.” Shepard salutes him. “Thank you for the intel.”  
          He returns the salute. “Give ‘em hell, Shepard.”  
          They both go their separate ways without looking back.

          The three aliens are at the rail of the docking bay, right before the loading ramp leading up to the Normandy’s boarding port. They look up at the ship, occasionally pointing, and the conversation is low and almost respectful.  
          The sight of them steels her. Three random strangers, and suddenly they’re casting their lots in with hers. Her time on the Citadel has been half being thrown to the wolves, and half being saved by the endless kindness of others.  
          Tali notices her first. “Commander! I can’t believe it!” She races to meet the Shepard. “This ship is beautiful! Are we… I can really serve with this crew? What did Anderson say?!”  
          Shepard takes a deep breath and smiles. “Anderson’s resigned as captain. Command of the Normandy has been… relegated to me.”  
          “What? So can we board?” Tali watches the Normandy like she thinks it might disappear any second.  
          “I’m… sure the crew has been notified of the change,” Shepard said. “Go ahead and get on. See if Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko is fit for duty; if so, tell him you’re here with permissions from the new CO.”  
          Without answering Tali is racing up the boarding ramp. Wrex and Garrus remain where they are, studying her. _They know something’s wrong._  
          Finally Wrex trudges past, clapping her once on the shoulder. “Congratulations yet again, Shepard.”  
          She expects Garrus will head up next, but she doesn’t want to face the crew just yet herself. _How did they announce it? Just like they dumped it on me?_ She goes to the railing and leans down against it, studying the Normandy. Her ship. _Maybe Anderson told them._ It feels cruel, but that thought comforts her more.  
          Someone leans against the rail next to her. Garrus.  
          “The Normandy. A joint effort between the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy.”  
          “That’s not really common knowledge, Vakarian. Not among us, anyways.”  
          “Not us either, actually. I only know because my father told me about it.”  
           _Is it polite to pry any further when talking to a turian?_ She honestly doesn’t know, but the silence that settles between them isn’t uncomfortable. A few more heartbeats pass, and then –  
          “What happened, Commander?”  
          Turian – ex-military, C-Sec officer. Of course he would know. She rubs a scuff on her glove. “Captain Anderson had some… history with Saren. Udina forced him to resign as a show of goodwill to the Council. Anderson only agreed on the condition that I get the Normandy. So, it’s all a sham.” The words make her stomach twist.  
          “It’s not,” Garrus says. “Don’t discount everything you did to get this far. N7 marine, Alliance Commander, and so high on the Spectre list you got an observer, before any of this political mess even happened.”  
          She almost tells him about the rite of passage for ICT trainees to find out their sponsor. She almost tells him about the name she found. But she doesn’t – it’s heavy, but it’s private too. Something that should remain unspoken. So instead she says, “That doesn’t make it any easier to face the crew.”  
          “It doesn’t, but… we can’t stand out here forever.”  
          She exhales loudly. “We can’t. Let’s get a move-on, Vakarian.”  
          She follows him up the boarding platform, feeling like she’s walking to her execution. She hasn’t been with this crew for very long, but she gets along with them well enough. That rapport is either going to crystallize, or get torn apart.  
          Past the airlock, she waves Vakarian on and turns left instead, to the helm. She can just as easily tell her pilot their destination over comm, but she’ll address him face to face.  
          As she enters, Joker starts to stand and salute– the motion is awkward and labored. Shepard holds out a hand. “Joker, no need. Sit back down.”  
          “Ma’am.” He settles back down, glancing at her and grimacing a little. “What a rotten deal, huh? Anderson – the man’s a decorated hero, lived through the First Contact War and who knows how many battles, and he gets taken down by backroom politics.”  
          “Yeah. And I get to steal the Normandy.”  
          “Who said that?” Joker adjusts his hat. “Hey, Anderson got screwed, but Udina’s the one who set that up. At least we get a CO we know – and actually like – instead of some shmuck Udina throws our way. And look on the bright side – we fail this new crap, and we’ll be on the chopping block right behind him.”  
          Shepard slowly meets his eye. “Joker, did you see Eden Prime? We fail this, and we’re most likely dead.”  
          “Ah, thanks, Commander,” Joker says warmly, turning back to the control board and getting to work. “Here I am trying to be optimistic and cheer you up, and you go and says things like that. Teach me a lesson.”  
          “Okay, fine.” She can’t help smiling. “We fail, Udina dishonorably discharges us all. Forced resignation. But we’re still alive.”  
          “That’s the spirit.” His hand pauses above a panel. “You, ah, wanna say anything over PA comm?”  
          She doesn’t. “Sure. Patch me through.” As he readies the system, she races over what she wants to say, and what she should say. It’s two different speeches.  
          The console beeps. Time to work.  
          “Normandy crew. I’m sure you know what’s happened. I won’t restate what we already know. But I will restate our mission. We have to hunt down Saren Arterius, and halt whatever he’s planning. It won’t be easy. Saren is a threat to the whole galaxy, and the Systems Alliance has stood apart for too long. Both of those things end with me. I’m going to stop him, and I’m going to do it with your help.”  
          She motions to Joker, and he cuts off the comm. “Good words, Commander. Anderson himself would have been proud.”  
          She nods. “He gave up everything for this. Let’s not let it go to waste.”  
          “Sure thing. We have a first stop on this pleasure cruise?”  
          “Therum, Artemis Tau cluster,” Shepard says. “Let’s go pay this Liara a visit.”


	5. Not Even Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Shepard knows about Joker's health problems before talking to him, because what kind of Commander doesn't know about their crew's major medical issues?  
> -Liara's a little less battle-conditioned, since she's supposed to be this sheltered scholar.  
> -Actually added in some side effects of the Beacon. In ME3 Shepard mentions the visions almost killed her, but in ME1 it never seemed to be an issue.  
> -Had to tweak/add some stuff in the debriefing conversation with Liara to smooth out the flow of information.

          Her ship.  
          It baffles her mind to think about as Shepard walks though the CIC towards the helm of the ship. Crewmen work at the monitors around the central HUD. A few of them stifle yawns, and several balance mugs of coffee on the monitor stands.  
          Her crew.  
          Switching back and forth between Galactic Standard Time and Standard Solar Time is always a little tough. The Alliance operates on a twenty-four hour day, while the Citadel uses a 27 hour day – almost identical to that of the asari homeworld of Thessia.  
          Shepard reaches the bridge. Joker salutes her from his spot in the pilot’s chair. “Mornin’, Commander.”  
          “Morning. How’s she running?”  
          “She’s running great. Y’know… to be honest, this ship is probably too much for the average pilot to handle.”  
          “Pretty cocky for your first ship assignment right out of school.” The corners of Shepard’s mouth quirk into a smile. “With all those commendations on your file, I guess you’ve earned it.”  
          “Top of my class,” he snaps. “Those aren’t some charity for my disease.”  
          “I… didn’t say that.” Shepard slowly raises an eyebrow. “ _Osteogenesis Imperfecta,_ right?”  
          “God, that’s such a mouthful. Just call it Vrolik’s Syndrome. I figured you would’ve been told. Anderson’s second-in-command, and all.” Joker clears his throat, sounding a little resigned. “I apologize for my tone, ma’am. Feels like all my merits get shoved under the rug the moment I break out the crutches.”  
          “I apologize too, then. He didn’t mention how severe your case was.”  
          “When it comes to bones, Commander, any brittle is too brittle. But since you asked…. It’s bad. I was even born with fractures.”  
          “They can’t fix it?”  
          “It’s treatable, but no. Hard to walk, easy to break a bone. _Snap_!” He pauses and waves his hands. “Very dramatic. But it doesn’t stop me from being the best damn pilot in the Fleet.”  
          “I’m not debating that fact. I didn’t mean you any offense.”  
          “Eh. It’s okay, none taken.” He shakes his head. “Let’s change the subject, though. Kind of a downer.”  
          “Okay…” She shrugs. “Why do they call you Joker, then? That’s one thing Anderson never told me.”  
          “Because it’s a helluva lot simpler to say than, ‘Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau’.” He bats his eyelashes. “And I love to make little children laugh.”  
          He shifts in the chair and cackles at the look on her face. “Nah. The instructors use to always give me crap for being so serious all the time, so that’s what they called me. By the time graduation rolled around, I was better than they were, and they knew it. Guess who was laughing then?”  
          “And so you got assigned here? To the Normandy?”  
          “Um, yeah." He coughs. "More or less.”  
          “More or less...?”  
          “Yes, Commander.” His voice is flat now, and he busies himself at the controls. “By the way, I’ve been told to tell you: Engineer Adams has a report concerning the stealth experiments ready. It was supposed to go to Anderson, but… that means it’s going to you, now.”  
          Shepard crosses her arms. “Joker… does Chief Engineer Adams actually have a report for me, or is this a carefully crafted plan to get me to leave?”  
          He doesn’t look at her. “Why not both? It can be both.”  
          “Ok, fine. I can take the hint, Joker. You don’t have to talk about your assignment.” She backsteps twice to leave the helm. “Give me a heads up when we’re close to Therum.”  
          “Aye aye, Ma’am.”

          A report from Adams – the Chief Engineer has been overseeing the performance of the Normandy’s drive core and stealth systems. Shepard tries to discern how Adams can have a report ready when the experimental systems had never been used – _Oh. Leaving Eden Prime._ She had been unconscious for most of the return trip, and the colony had been crawling with geth. Of course they would have engaged the stealth systems to depart. The mission had been an abysmal failure, but maybe they’d have something to show for it after all.  
          Shepard moves her way past the CIC down to the middle level of the ship to the main quarters, waving to Chakwas as she passes. Then it’s down to the bottom level – storage bay, weapons lockers, and engineering. Shepard takes a moment to gather herself. She’ll be lucky if the report is all she gets – Chief Engineer Adams takes any chance he can to talk about the Tantalus core. Shepard gets the general principles behind it, sure – but the specifics Adams loves usually leaves her head spinning.  
          At the weapons bench near the corner of the storage bay, Garrus dismantles and cleans a rifle, so practiced he’s on autopilot. “Commander,” he says as she passes. “Thanks again for the invitation. I can’t wait to see how it’s done on a Spectre’s side of things.”  
          Shepard pauses. “You think it’ll be that different?”  
          “At _least._ At C-Sec, you’re buried in rules. To the point where you can’t even move.”  
          “Maybe they were put there for a reason.”  
          He chuckles, examining the part in his hand. “Funny. That’s the same thing my father said.”  
          “I’m not saying that _now_ they’re a good thing.” She frowns. “Just that maybe they worked, once upon a time.”  
          “And nobody’s interested in changing them, even though they hampered me left and right. You’d think doing my job would mean something.”  
          Shepard leans against the bench. “Like shutting down your investigation of Saren?”  
          “Exactly. That’s from the oldest rule in the book: don’t make the important people look bad.” He puts the gun down, thinking for a solid moment. Then he looks Shepard straight in the eye. “I hate to say it, but how they handled Saren’s case was typical. I think that’s why it was the last straw for me.” He looks back down to the bench. “I still don’t like leaving, but… It had to happen.”  
          A smolder of discomfort rises in Shepard’s chest. “I hope you don’t regret it later, Garrus.”  
          “Don’t underestimate how unhappy I was there, Shepard,” Garrus says. “I’m happy to be here. Happy to see if my way is better after all.”  
          “I guess you’ll find out sooner or later,” Shepard says. “This is one mission we can’t fail.”  
          “And we won’t, Commander.”  
          She pauses. “I’ll let you work. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Vakarian.”  
          But she wonders. And doubts.  
          On the opposite side of the cargo bay are the double doors leading to engineering. Beyond them is the platform and control console, observing the massive element zero core. It glows with a blue-white fire, held in the three-prong containment frame. As it is, being this close is perfectly safe, but still the sight of this much eezo provokes a primal pang of fear.  
          At the far edge of the platform, Tali stands with Engineer Adams, typing slowly at a console. Occasionally she glances up to the massive core that looms over them all.  
          The other engineers parts before her as Shepard enters the compartment. “Adams. How’s she running?”  
Adams looks back at her, walking to meet her halfway. He grins like a proud father and motions to the core. “Beautiful, Commander. If I didn’t know any better, I’d never even guess this was experimental. I think this may be the best damn ship I ever served on.”  
          “You had a report for me?”  
          “I did.” He activates his omni-tool and types in some commands. “All the results from the stealth operations, compiled and concluded. I’ll need your authorization before we can send it off to the Alliance brass at Arcturus Station.”  
          “Sure.” Her own omni-tool beeps, and the hologram lights up as it displays the data.  
          “And – Ma’am – ” Adams clears his throat. “I’m not breaking regulation by allowing Miss Zorah down here, right? She asked, and I authorized it myself, but then Pressly said – Ma'am, Pressly is my friend, but I don't think - ”  
          “Is she causing any trouble?” Shepard asks flatly without looking up.  
          “No ma’am. She’s… helping, actually. A prodigy when it comes to ships. She’s been reviewing our logs, suggesting extra checks to our maintenance protocols. We're revising a troubleshooting procedure right now, actually.”  
          “Then she's authorized. Did Pressly say anything to her?”  
          "No, Ma'am!" He stands a little straighter.  
          "Good." _Here I was worried about complicated engineering topics, and instead I get... this._ There's another flurry of activity behind them, near another terminal. "I'll let you get back to your revisions. Adams. I'm going to check in with Miss Zorah for a minute." She nods to him and strides forward to stand beside the girl.  
          Tali fails to notice the approach, until Shepard clears her throat. She practically jumps at the noise. “Commander! This ship is absolutely amazing. When I first saw it, sure, I was impressed, but even then I had no clue! No wonder humans are so prominent in the community, even after such a short time.”  
          “Easy on the applause there,” Shepard says, glancing to the core. _It’s so damn close._ “This whole thing is so cutting edge it’s experimental.”  
          “Still, it’s wonderful. And that’s coming from a quarian.” She hold up a single finger, sinewy even in the gloves of her suit. “Don’t think we’re so easy to impress! This is high praise, you know!”  
          Shepard smiles. “You guys are big on tech, huh?”  
          “Well... Yeah! But it’s born out of necessity. Most of my people wander the stars in the Flotilla, after all. We have to keep things running as long as possible. We’ve still got ships that came from the original flight from the geth.”  
          For a moment Shepard’s mind stumbles over the math. Then she works it out. Then she second guesses it. “Ah… Tali, wasn’t that around three hundred years ago?”  
          “It was. I told you; we are very good at tech. Living in the Flotilla means growing up learning how to be self-sufficient, how to fix things instead of replacing them. That’s the real function of the Pilgrimage, to keep new resources coming in the best we can.”  
          “Right, this tribute you have to bring back. Who decides if it’s good enough?”  
          “We appeal to the captain of a Flotilla ship to join his crew. To them, the gift is a sign we can pull our own weight on the crew.”  
          “Hmm.” Shepard thinks for a moment. “Can they turn it down? What do you do then?”  
          “Ah.” Tali actually recoils just a bit. “It would be a truly horrendous gift to get refused. The Pilgrimage has roots in practicality, but there’s still a lot riding on ceremony.”  
          Shepard smiles again – for being hidden by a suit, Tali’s very expressive. Quarians are such an insular society – even as much as Shepard’s been around nonhumans, this is her first extended interaction with one. But Tali seems eager to answer all the questions.  
          “And… speaking of ceremony.” Tali twines and untwines her fingers. “Thanks for… being so nice to me, Shepard. It does mean a lot to me. I’m not sure how it works for humans, but the captain of a ship is a very important person in the Migrant Fleet.”  
          “Is that so? Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work.” Shepard turns and leans against the console, studying the vibrating core. A marvel of technology. A legacy of the Protheans. “Is that who runs the Flotilla? The captains?”  
          “Er… not exactly. The captains have authority over their own ships. But the Migrant Fleet has far too many ships for each captain to have an equal say. Every ship is categorized into one of five roles, like peacekeeping, military, R &D. Each role gets a representative on the Admiralty Board. They’re the ones who decide actions for the fleet as a whole.” She clears her throat, which sounds strange through the suit speaker. “Er, sorry if that answer was longer than you wanted.”  
          “No, thanks. I appreciate the lesson. And thanks for the help with the core –”  
          The beep in her ear signals a message over her personal comm. Shepard puts a hand to her ear. “Yes?”  
          “Ma’am,” Joker says. “ETA is an hour. This is your official Alliance-sanctioned heads-up.”

          The screen of the comm room all show the same thing: red rocks, lava flows. Old ruins jutting out of the ground.  
          “Volcanic, ma’am? Sounds fun.”  
          Shepard turns to the circle of crew gathered in the room. Two Alliance marines, a krogan mercenary, a turian ex-cop, and a quarian engineer on her coming-of-age journey.  
          She can work with this.  
          “Volcanic means there’s nothing fun about it, Alenko,” Shepard says. “The good news – if we can call it that – is that sensor readings says there’s nothing there. Mining planet, been picked clean.”  
          “Those ruins were found while they were digging?” Garrus says.  
          “Correct. I guess some big name researchers from Hyetiana stopped by, said there was nothing of note. Hence, nobody stayed behind.”  
          “Why is Miss T’soni there, then?” Kaidan leans forward, studying the pictures displayed across the vid screen.  
          “Couldn’t tell you. I also can’t tell you whether we can classify her as friendly or not.”  
          “Not,” says Wrex.  
          Shepard puts her hands on her hips and turns to scrutinize the screen as well. “I’d rather assume hostile. No sense getting caught unawares.” Preparing for an unfriendly asari – a race where everyone has biotic powers. The best way to fight a biotic is…  
          “Kaidan. Wrex. You’re on ground team. Everyone else is standby. Gear up.”

          She’s at the weapons bench, strapping the various parts of her combat hardsuit around her body, over the combat uniform – arms, legs, torso. Wrex stands calmly next to her, checking a shotgun. The krogan can afford to take his time – unlike the rest of the crew, his shipboard attire _is_ his hardsuit.  
          “So. What’s your story, Wrex?” Shepard checks the tightness of her chestpiece, then adjusts it.  
          “No story.”  
          “Krogan live almost as long as asari do. Nothing interesting?”  
          “How about the time the turians decided to slowly kill my entire race? All our babies stillborn, the cultural collapse over a millennium and a half. That’s been fun.”  
           _This… turned to a dangerous topic very quickly._ “I’m sorry for pressing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”  
          He puts the shotgun to compact form and slings it across the hunch of his back. “Your ignorance doesn’t upset me, Shepard. Don’t apologize. It’s not even the genophage that’s killing us. We’re too busy fighting, spreading out, dying as a species.”  
          Shepard clicks the gauntlets over her wrist and checks the kinetic shield activation. Very, very slowly, she hazards, “I didn’t know it was that grim. Isn’t anyone working to fix it?”  
          “Salarians are the ones who engineered it. They don’t care. Turians are the ones who used it. They’re fine with the status quo. The krogan would rather spend their last collective days fighting than researching. It’s just who we are.”  
          “I’m… sorry, Wrex.”  
          “Hmph. Humans show up to the galaxy twenty-six years ago, and here you are apologizing for something that happened fourteen hundred years before that.” He waits for her to finish her suit checks. “Come on, Shepard. I’ve got to earn that credit, right?”

          The heat is oppressive – it’s a force all its own. A foe that remained unaccounted for, and now attacks with a vengeance. The ground is rough and red, and mountains close in from practically every direction. In the near distance, a ruin lies half-buried in the mountainside, with some struts and makeshift stairs leading up to an opening in the ancient structures. A single ratty prefab sits off to side, the sole sign of any sort of habitation.  
          “Looks like she’s still here,” Shepard mutters as they trek across the craggy ground. The act of talking makes too much heat. Metabolizing oxygen makes too much heat. Even looking at the scenery is making her overheat.  
           _Shape up._  
          A dull ache pangs through Shepard’s head. She tells herself; _there was really no way I could account for this – the virtual intelligence of the hardsuits will keep us alive in this environment, but it’s not as if we could have made it any more bearable._  
          “Heh. You humans okay?” Wrex looks like he’s out for a morning stroll.  
          “Fine. Fine. What about you?”  
          “Fifty degrees hotter and it might get uncomfortable.”  
          “At least it’s a dry heat.” Kaidan sounds amused – uncomfortable, but amused. His pace is good, but his stance slouches as they get closer.  
          “Commander. Gettin’ some crazy readings,” Joker says over the comm. “Like, off the charts crazy.”  
          “Keep me in the loop if something happens –”  
          The dull roar of engines from behind them – _The Normandy? Joker, what the hell?_ Then the shadow passes over them, and she sees –  
          A long silver ship, with two segments that look suspiciously like a head and thorax of some insect. _A cockroach._ That’s what it looks like. Shepard’s never seen anything like it before. Unlike the dark ship on Eden Prime, there is no soul-shaking thunder.  
          The insectile ship passes right over them and heads straight for the dig site.  
          “Damn! What’s it doing?” Without waiting Shepard takes off in pursuit.  
          “Commander? There’s a –”  
          “I see it, Joker!”  
          It hovers a bit at the site, and a hull door opens. Silvery things drop out and land hard on the rocky ground. Shepard slows only a bit, narrowing her eyes and trying to discern this new turn of events. The heavy footfalls behind her assure her the squad is close behind.  
          The ship takes off suddenly, and the shapes on the ground start to look disturbingly familiar.  
          “It’s geth! Take cover!” Swerving a hard right, Shepard makes it behind an outcropping just as the pulses start firing. _So that’s what a geth ship looks like._ Nothing like the dark ship from the colony – or the vision.  
          “Machines, huh?” Wrex sighs as he fires towards the oncoming geth. “Doesn’t have the same oomph.”  
          “I dunno. Plenty of oomph for me.” Kaidan freezes one with biotics.  
          Shepard sees the opportunity and gets in a square shot with her sniper rifle. They’re close to the dig now, and the squad of geth is splitting – a few disengage the firefight and go up the ramshackle stairs to the ruins.  
          “Go! Keep up the pressure!” The display sparks an angry impatience. “They’re getting inside!”  
          “Here to kill her, or rescue her from us?” Kaidan calls, ducking back behind their cover as the remaining geth continue fire.  
          “Doesn’t matter. We kill them, find her,” Wrex says.  
          As the machines begin to thin out, the squad closes in. Every moment out here is another moment the geth inside have unopposed. The choice of bringing an Alliance marine and krogan fighter, both biotics, quickly reveals itself a sound decision.  
          Wrex flings a whole rank of geth away with a biotic blast of force, tearing several of them apart in the sheer act of it. He grabs another with his biotics, but instead of floating it helplessly for Shepard to draw a bead, he drags it towards them. Bracing the shotgun, he blasts it point blank and showers their hiding spot with geth parts.  
          Shepard ignores the rain of machine bits as she fires, downing one of the farther geth. There’s only a few left, now. Their kinetic barriers can deflect the rest of the attack. And if not… there’s always medi-gel. Shepard moves out of cover. “Wrex? Can I leave this to you?”  
          “Sure can. Won’t be long.”  
          She hopes so. There may be a hostile asari in their future. If so, these geth will be the least of their problems.  
          Shepard and Kaidan take off across the rusty ground as Wrex charges towards the geth. They calmly raise their pulse rifles and turn their attention to this new pressing threat. He does well drawing their fire, and now the Alliance soldiers need only worry about the onslaught of heat as they sprint for the dig site’s opening.  
          They double-time up the stairs and down into the tunnel, held steady by frames of metal beams. The sounds of shotgun blasts and pulse fire behind them fade as they descend. Thankfully, the temperature cools markedly from the point of entry. At least it’s no longer a struggle to concentrate.  
          In these close quarters, Shepard compacts and stows the sniper rifle. Readying her pistol, she looks to Kaidan before pressing on. “Heads up, Alenko. Tight quarters ahead.”  
          The ruins are crisscrossed by scaffolds and metal walkways. It has a roughshod look, and Shepard is careful with the weight she puts on every step. Sheer white panels are revealed here and there in the crumbling walls, starkly artificial among the gloom.  
          “Looks like there’s been lava flow in here,” Kaidan says, running a hand along a dark ridge on the wall. “And there’s not even a dent in this stuff. Protheans sure built to last.”  
          Hanging lights illuminate the tunnel, leading to a cavern half-filled by what looks like a subterranean tower. It too is bone-white, as if the soil itself is repelled.  
          There’s a jury-rigged elevator – just a metal platform hooked up to a rope pulley. Milling about below is the vanguard of geth – about a half dozen. They have their weapons stowed, and seem to be interested in something near the base of the tower. They haven’t noticed the Alliance marines.  
          It’s the perfect setup for an ambush. Shepard motions to Kaidan, kneels, and –  
          Wrex comes bounding down the pathways, splattered in blood. It’s his, of course, but the wounds have probably fully healed by now. The geth look up, Wrex looks down, and the perfect ambush is degraded into a run-of-the-mill firefight.  
          “Dammit, Wrex! We had a surprise attack going!” Shepard takes a shot on a geth, chancing the fire. The kinetic barrier swerves their shots away from her body. The pistol’s good, no mistake, but she misses the one-hit drop of her sniper rifle.  
          “Why all the effort? They’re damned machines.” Wrex ambles to the edge of the walkway and lowers himself off the edge, swinging down to the lower level. “This mission’s a little boring, Shepard. If you don’t mind my saying.”  
          He lands on a geth and fires on another. They whip their own guns towards him, affording enough of a pause for Shepard and Kaidan to return fire. With a krogan on the ground, the end of the fight comes quickly.  
          Shepard and Kaidan stand on the elevator and slowly hoist themselves down using the pulley. “Mass effect relays, a council of aliens, thermal clip rifles,” Kaidan raises his eyebrows at the rope. “And here, on this world how far away from home? Hand operated.”  
          With a screech the elevator stops a good six feet before reaching the ground. “And it doesn’t even work right.” Kaidan follows his commander in climbing down the rest of the way.  
          Wrex is at the base of the ruined tower. “Sterile white. Prothean stuff is always so homey.”  
          “Um… Hello?” A woman’s voice, coming from around the tower. The squad freezes. _We’re here for an asari._  
          Shepard raises the pistol and waves her squad onwards. They follow the open space of the cavern around the tower. It’s the same blank white all the way.  
          They reach an open section. _An entrance into this tower?_ It’s sealed by some sort of barrier, white-blue and translucent. On the other side is a young woman, dressed in a simple gray outfit, smudged with dirt. The barrier distorts her features, but her pale blue skin and crest of stiff tentacles give her away.  
          Shepard doesn’t lower the gun. “Liara T’soni?”  
          Her eyes get bigger as she tracks the barrel. “Yes, I am Doctor T’soni, I –“ She sees the red stripe on the sleeve of Shepard’s hardsuit, the insignia on Alenko’s shoulder. “Alliance! Oh – oh thank the goddess…” She sinks down, putting her hands on her knees. “I thought I heard voices. I never would have hoped it would be Alliance military.”  
          “Matriarch Benezia is your mother, correct?” Shepard still has the gun trained square on her, but she barely seems to notice.  
          “Yes. She is. Hold on.” She straightens and moves to a section of the wall with some kind of design on it. “We can speak after I lower the barrier –”  
          “Don’t. move.” The steel in Shepard’s voice stops her cold. Finally Liara’s attention goes back to the heavy pistol, pointing straight at her.  
          “Commander, I don’t…”  
          “Matriarch Benezia is working with a turian named Saren Arterius. He’s an ex-Spectre terrorist who attacked a human colony.”  
          For a moment Liara only stutters, eyes darting to Shepard, Shepard’s gun, and the marine and krogan standing on either side of her. “Ah, I – I don’t – I can’t – ” She swallows, breathing heavily. “I haven’t spoken to my mother in several years. I will not… argue the truth of what you claim, even if I cannot believe it myself. But I promise you, I have no involvement with whatever this Saren is up to.”  
          Shepard doesn’t budge. “You’re not hostile?”  
          Liara purses her lips, and keeps glancing at the gun. “I’m not! When those geth appeared, I activated the security system on the tower to put up the barrier. Then you showed up, and…” She takes a shuddery breath. “Are they involved with Saren as well?”  
          “They are.” Shepard says, narrowing her eyes. “You were just going to wait them out? They’re machines.”  
          “So you see my predicament,” Liara says, voice quavering. “I would never have gone with them willingly. Were they sent here to collect me because of my mother?”  
          “We’re not sure.” Kaidan says. His pistol is lowered, but then again, he doesn’t need it in a fight. “Saren’s also after something we think is a Prothean artifact. Something called the Conduit. And you’re a researcher specializing in Protheans. So…”  
          “Take me with you. Please.” Liara steps forward, almost touching the barrier. “Don’t let them take me, Alliance soldiers. And… krogan.”  
          “That’s our plan –“ Shepard’s cut off by a series of quakes that vibrate the whole dig. A few of the lights flicker, one goes out.  
          It’s uniform, calculated shaking. “Bombs. Trying to flush us out?”  
          The shaking continues, becoming uneven, disorienting. “This is a volcanic planet, Commander,” Liara says pleadingly from behind the barrier. “They must have triggered some kind of seismic activity…”  
          “Barrier down! Now!” Shepard starts backing away, motioning her to hurry. Further along the tower, part of the ceiling collapses. “Doctor T’soni! We’re gonna get buried alive down here!”  
          The asari wastes no time in manipulating the panel and rushing out of the tower. Shepard takes point as they round the tower back to the makeshift elevator and signals the Normandy through her comm. “Joker. Need a pickup, ASAP. Back at the ruins!”  
          “Right away, ma’am. ETA is a few minutes.”  
          “This is gonna be close. That kid better make it,” Wrex says.  
          A krogan lands in front of the elevator from the upper level. “Surrender. Or don’t. Either way’s fine.” He sees Liara. “Thanks for getting the asari out of that barrier.”  
          “You’re the one who set off the damn bombs?” Shepard trains the pistol on his head. “This place is coming down, and you want to fight?”  
          “Exhilarating, isn’t it? I was told to try and take her alive, but I guess it doesn’t matter.” He charges.  
          The adrenaline rush blooms like fireworks in Shepard’s body, and the team scatters. A blue glow surrounds the krogan, and he thrashes as he’s lifted off his feet mid-charge.  
          “Kaidan! Good!” Shepard’s already firing the pistol as fast as she can pull the trigger. Wrex follows along, but so far away, his shotgun’s spread is too wide to be very effective.  
          Kaidan keeps his hands outstretched, concentrating on the biotic power. “Ma’am. Running outta steam, here.”  
          Shepard loads a new thermal clip into the pistol. “Wrex, pick up for me?”  
          “No can do, Shepard.” He fires his shotgun and reloads. “I can’t do all that fancy lift-float stuff.”  
          It’s not surprising. Wrex’s biotic abilities seem to resemble his physical ones – strong, brutal, and imprecise. But – they have an asari with them. _They get trained in their biotic power from childhood._ “Doctor, take over for Alenko.”  
          No response. Shepard unloads the clip into the krogan, who is descending at an alarming rate. “Doctor? Just keep him in the air!”  
          Liara’s pressed against the Prothean tower, arms clutched around her body. “I – I…”  
          “Oh, fine!” Wrex fires the shotgun and stows it, then motions outward with both hands. The enemy krogan is lifted – no, _flung_ – in the air like a feather. It’s no biotic floating – just tossing him high in the air – but he slams down hard.  
          The next clip is already spent, and Shepard waves them on. “Let’s go! Forget about him!” The krogan stirs, starts to rise, but they don’t have to kill him. They just have to outrun him.  
          The group clambers up the rail to the creaky elevator platform. Kaidan and Shepard help drag up Liara the rest of the way. Wrex is already pulling the rope double-handed. The strength of the krogan makes them rise as fast and smooth as an electric motor.  
          They sway left and right as they escape through the quaking tunnels. Over the din of the imminent collapse, they hear the enraged roar of the krogan at some indeterminate distance behind them. Shepard keeps a firm grip on Liara’s upper arm as they flee. The asari scientist clenches her jaw, keeping back the tears in her eyes.  
          There’s an inrush of heat – there’s a lava flow coming from somewhere, and if it’s ahead, they’re in trouble. Sections of the tunnel are collapsing now; they’re running, lunging to the side, avoiding the cave-ins and fighting to keep ahead. A groaning screech pierces through the earthen rumble – the scaffolding and support struts are fully giving way, now. The whole mountain is screaming, the heat is unbearable, and –  
          Light.  
          They burst outside, scrambling down the steps. A lava flow has been diverted underneath the prefab, and the ground is shaking so badly the stairs behind them practically fall apart. The ground around the ruins begins to split away and fall – the underground cavern system must span underneath the whole area. There’s nothing left to do but run and hope.  
          Shepard’s just about to radio the Normandy and start shouting when the familiar whine of engines signals the ship’s arrival. Joker brings it down low, running above the red expanse of the planet alongside the fleeing team. Kaidan’s closest, and he easily clambers up to the airlock bay doors. Liara follows behind, helped up by the marine. Shepard’s almost there when the ground beneath her fractures with a blast of incomprehensible heat. Something grabs her sides by the seams of the hardsuit – Shepard cries out as she’s lifted effortlessly off her feet and gently tossed into the open airlock.  
          “Wrex!” Shepard shouts, righting herself and turning over.  
          “ _Korbal!_ ” Wrex screams and jumps just as the ground beneath gives a stomach-dropping crack. He lands with half his body inside, and with one push he heaves himself inside like a beaching whale.  
          The airlock doors close with a neat click, sealing the heat out. Shepard’s ears pop as the pressure equalizes. Liara is panting hard, eyes teary. Kaidan is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.  
          Wrex brushes some ash off the bony plate on his head. “Sorry, Shepard. Looked like you weren’t going to make it.”  
          No one says anything. Only the sound of breathing.  
          He looks to each of them. “It finally got fun there in the end, huh? I’d say I earned that credit.”

 

          In the comm room, everyone is seated in the chairs in a ring around the room. Shepard stands at the front, near the vid screen. Her arms cross as she patiently listens.  
          “So, yeah! Just for reference? Landing on an exploding volcano? Maybe not something we should repeat. The lava, _y'know,_ that’s the problem. Tend to melt the hull… Fry the sensors… Just for future reference.” Joker clicks off the comm, and the room is silent.  
          “We… almost died, and your pilot is making jokes?” Liara says tersely.  
          Shepard turns. “He was worried about us – It’s a coping mechanism. You’ll get used to it.”  
          “Coping…” Liara sits back in her chair. “I… is that a human trait? I don’t have much experience at all dealing with humans. But I suppose be thanking him, too. Without all of you, I would have been taken or killed by the geth.”  
          “Can you shed any light on his motives?” Garrus asks. “Tell us about this Conduit?”  
          “I’ve… reviewed the evidence presented to me by Commander Shepard,” Liara says, looking down at her clasped hands. “It is indeed my mother’s voice, speaking to Saren. As I said on Therum, I have not spoken with or even seen my mother in several years. I cannot… begin to guess the motive of her or the Spectre, Saren.  
          “As for the Conduit…” Her voice strengthens. “It is something that has only been mentioned once or twice in all the Prothean data we have. Whether it is an artifact, or a myth, or even something like symbolism, I could not say. The only certain thing is that it is only mentioned in the latest time period in which they existed.  
          “Latest. So, right before their civilization fell,” Shepard says.  
          Liara nods. “Yes, Commander. But that is all I can offer you on this topic, even though I’ve spent the last fifty years researching this.”  
          “Fifty years?” Ashley says. “Just how old are you?”  
          Liara gives her an uncertain smile. “I am only one-hundred and six.”  
          “Damn.” Ashley says. “Hope I look that good that old.”  
          “Old?” Liara clears her throat. “Among my people I am almost still a child. I have not been able to secure much interest in my investigation. It… doesn’t help that my research is considered frivolous in the scientific community.”  
          “Frivolous? Why?” Tali asks.  
          “My area of study is attempting to find out what actually happened to them. When it comes to Protheans, the concern is always their technology. It’s understandable, I suppose; Prothean tech has advanced our galaxy by leaps and bounds. But… it is to the point where people care about little else, least of all what happened to them in the end.”  
          “What have you found? Anything?” Shepard only barely keeps the anxiousness out of her voice.  
          “Well, unfortunately, with as little working tech as we can find, there’s even less of anything else,” Liara says. “But… even after fifty thousand years… there’s literally almost nothing about who they were as a people. There’s only the tech. Sometimes it feels as though what has been left behind of them culturally was done so by mistake.”  
          Despite her best efforts, a chill runs down Shepard’s spine. “Like… they’ve been erased?”  
          Liara nods vehemently. “Yes, Commander. Additionally, there are other strange observations. Prothean structures on different planets have different aspects to them, sometimes drastically so. In my comparisons, I’ve started getting the feeling that the Protheans themselves were influenced by civilizations who came before them. But those are all long since lost. I believe this cycle came long before the Protheans themselves.”  
          “Cycle?”  
          “These civilizations are all scattered throughout the galaxy, but we don’t even have names for them. There’s not even ruins – not even ghosts.” She motions to Tali, to Garrus, then to Shepard. “Every player on the galactic stage has developed at roughly the same rate. Asari were the first to discover the Citadel, and until everyone else showed up, the galaxy was empty. But with all these ruins, all this tech – how could it have been?”  
          “A mass extinction event.” Even hearing her own voice, Shepard’s words sound like a bad omen. “Every race that came before the asari was eradicated.”  
          “And when the Protheans rose to spaceflight, the civilizations that came before them were already gone, too.”  
          “In a cycle,” Shepard says.  
          “So, you’re saying that every so often, something happens that just… wipes out everything?” Garrus says. The agitation is clear in his voice. “At a certain point? After a certain time period?”  
          “Unfortunately, I cannot say.” Liara looks down at her lap again. “Without more knowledge of the civilizations that came before them, I have nothing to compare the Protheans to. We have little enough of the Protheans themselves.”  
          “About that. Doctor.” Shepard chooses her next words carefully. “At Eden Prime, there was a recently uncovered Prothean artifact.”  
          “Yes?” Liara’s voice is innocent enough, but she leans forward just a bit and watches Shepard intently. Professional curiosity?  
          Or something else?  
          No. Shepard won’t believe she’s working with Saren. That fear, back there – it was real. Someone who had never been in a firefight, never been in the thick of violence. Benezia or not, this woman would only register as another resource to him. Perhaps her mother had only been another stepping stone to her. In any case, Liara has information. _And I need it._  
          “It gave me… information. Images in my head, like… like a vision. I know it sounds crazy, but – ”  
          “It’s not!” Liara stands with more ferocity than seems possible. “Commander!” She immediately freezes, disturbed at her own outburst. It doesn’t last long. Very quickly, she says, “Protheans appeared to be able to communicate by transmitting information directly into the mind, instead of through visuals or audio. These – these…”  
          “Beacons?” Ashley offers.  
          “Yes, I suppose they could be called that. These beacons are exceptionally rare. There have only been two other ever discovered, and both were badly damaged, too much so to gain any real amount of the data they contained.  
          “Also… we theorize they were only meant to – ‘download’ – into other Protheans. Those who discovered them had brief flashes – mere glimpses – of images, and they were reported to be confusing, nonsensical.”  
          She raises both hands, as if to touch Shepard’s face, then hesitates. “Commander Shepard. What did you see?”  
          The mere thought of it resurfaces the images as easily as oil skirting over water. Shepard takes a breath, then catches herself swaying even as she stands. Stiffening, she says, “I saw destruction, Doctor. Bodies everywhere, blood. It looked like the end of a war.”  
          Liara’s teal complexion gets noticeably paler, a remarkably human reaction. “The end of a war. There are no recorded wars in any Prothean research.” She presses her hand to her mouth. “For a beacon to be so undamaged, it must have been recently made, relatively speaking. Perhaps near the end… of their civilization.”  
          “There was a ship. In the vision. It looked similar to the starship Saren has possession of.” _Identical, in fact._ “A black ship, with… tentacles, or arms, on the bottom.”  
          “Makes this noise that scares the absolute hell out of you,” Ashley offers helpfully. “I mean it. A dead-on panic attack trigger while you’re hearing it.”  
          Liara shakes her head. Her hand still covers her mouth. “There’s no record of anything like that.”  
          “Maybe it’s a Reaper starship,” a voice pipes in, synthesized through a speaker. The group as a whole looks to Tali, sitting with her ankles crossed. She looks to Shepard, then Liara. “The geth have a myth of hyper-advanced synthetics who swept in out of nowhere and eradicated the Protheans. If Shepard saw the same ship on Eden Prime and in her vision, then what if Saren found a starship that they used?”  
          “In any case, everything going back to Saren seems to involve death. Mass murder,” Garrus practically spits. “This is beyond getting justice for what he’s already done. Every step we take shows us how important it is to stop whatever he’s planning.”  
          “If he was interested in the artifact on Eden Prime, and if… my mother’s words are to be believed… then the information it carried is important to his goals,” Liara says. Her voice is back to its timid state. “But even if Saren received this information too, it’s just as useless to him. If the beacon was damaged in any way, then the data contained within will be incomplete. And even then, the only way to decipher the message is to… be a Prothean. There’s no other way to explain it. It may very well explain everything concerning the Conduit, but for anyone left alive, that data is out of reach.”  
          A helpless silence descends on the room – they’ve rescued the Doctor, but they’re still drowning in conjecture. And now that they’ve been summoned, the gory images are threading through Shepard’s mind like an infection.  
          Shepard takes a breath in – too sharply. She waits another heartbeat, then asks, “Doctor T’soni. Those other researchers, who had the visions from the other beacons. How long did they last?”  
          Liara meets her dead in the eye. “They had only the singular visions. Once or twice upon approach, then they faded away. The very meaning of ephemeral.”  
          The unspoken message is left where it is. _Because I’m still having them, and they’re affecting me so drastically everyone’s noticing. Literally everyone._  
          Studying her a moment longer, Liara finally sits back down, back straight and hands folded. “Commander. It appears that I am being hunted. I request – I implore to remain with you and your crew here. I swear to you, I will do everything in my power, offer every extent of my knowledge, to help stop Saren.”  
          “Do it. We could always use another biotic.” Wrex nods his massive head.  
          Shepard frowns. Liara had proved to be anything but a fighter on Therum. She doesn’t argue the point. “Of course. Glad to have you aboard, Doctor.”  
           _A lone figure, running from a wall of fire._  
          “We’re headed back to the Citadel to regroup and restock,” Shepard says. Her stomach churns in its own acid. “Good work today. We’re still playing catch up, but it was a victory. Dismissed.”

          Shepard stands alone in the comm room, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of the wall. Before, speaking and concentrating on reality seemed to help with the visions. During debriefing, they’d seemed too strong from the moment she recalled them. It doesn’t seem like a good sign. Now, though, keeping her eyes closed and just letting it all go still – that seemed to quiet them down, if not banish them completely. Maybe it’s the best she can hope for.  
          “Commander?” Joker’s voice sounds through the comm radio in her ear. Private channel. “The Council’s requesting a meeting.”  
          She’s already sent a formal report. It wasn’t enough, it seems. She stands straight and takes a breath. “Patch them through. I’m already here.”  
          “Ma’am.”  
          The vid screen of the room blinks to life. The Galactic Council – all three of them – stare back at her. She’s waiting for them, the picture of a polite professional.  
          “Commander Shepard,” the turian councilor says the second their comms connect. “I’m led to understand that you currently have Matriarch Benezia’s daughter on board with you? As a guest, and not a prisoner? I question the judgment of trusting the enemy’s kin.”  
          “Liara T’soni is a victim in all of this,” Shepard says in her firmest commander-knows-best voice. “The geth were there to capture her, or kill her.”  
          “Commander.” Now it’s the asari’s turn to sternly disapprove. “Say no such thing. Matriarch Benezia would never allow harm to come to her daughter.”  
          “Perhaps she did not know,” the salarian says.  
          “Or, this Liara is a double agent with a convenient story,” the turian says. “And in saving her from the geth, did you have to destroy an entire Prothean ruin? Who knows what discoveries are lost to us now, Shepard.”  
          “I didn’t have much of a say in it, Councilor. We were lucky to just have made it out alive.”  
          “It was inevitable,” the salarian agrees. “The mission comes first, Commander. May your luck hold for what’s to come.”  
          The screen blinks off.  
           _Bastards._ Was it too much to ask for some kind of aid? Her only information has come from the Alliance. She’s out of leads, and just sitting around waiting for Saren to strike next isn’t her idea of a sound strategy.  
          “Are they done yet?” Joker asks through her private comm.  
          “They’re gone.”  
          “Good. I just wanted you to know, I want the medal to be gold. Since you’ll be recommending me for one. Since I pretty much pulled your boots outta the fire. Figuratively and literally.”  
          “Medal, huh? You sure you want one of those?” Shepard stands in the middle of the darkened comm room. “Take it from me, Joker. You have to go to the ceremony, shake a bunch of hands, listen to the politicians make speeches…”  
          “Good point. They’d probably make me shave my beard too, huh? No medal’s worth that.” He pauses awkwardly. “They… didn’t have any good news for us, did they?”  
          “They did not. They were angry that Doctor T’soni is on board, and that the Prothean ruin got buried under a layer of magma.”  
          “They didn’t even give you that mission. Anderson did,” Joker says. “So… what do we do now?”  
          “Just get us back to the Citadel. We’re gonna refuel, regroup, and figure out our next move.”  
           _And hope we’re not too late._


	6. Ambuscades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -There's an Aliens quote in the original dialogue with Talitha, and I added another.  
> -Wasn't sure where to go with the Mikhailovich thing since nothing really comes of it in the game. I think I know where I'll use it later... much later.

          The message is flagged as urgent and addressed directly to her. For a good few moments Shepard is sure that it’s either the Council or Anderson, ready with some new information. Hell, as long as she’s fantasizing, maybe they’ve found Saren’s exact location and this will be over.  
But that’s all it is, a fantasy. Both of those parties can reach her through the Normandy’s secure channel, and this is through public messaging on her omni-tool. The source states it is standard Alliance – from a Lieutenant Girard. She reroutes the message to the comm in her ear and answers.  
“Commander Shepard. I’m relieved you responded. We have a situation here. I heard reports your ship was due back to the Citadel…”  
“We’re about forty minutes out, Lieutenant. I hope it can wait until then.”  
“As do I. Ma’am, we’ve rescued a woman from a batarian workship. A slave. She was…” He clears his throat. “Ma’am, she was taken in the raid on Mindoir.”  
Shepard’s insides crystalize into a single block of ice. The captain’s cabin rotates around her once, then twice, then…  
“I see.”  
“Yes ma’am.” He speaks quickly now. “She managed to escape from the medical crew we placed her with when we docked here. They’re just trying to help her, you understand. She has a gun from one of the soldiers. I don’t think she’s going to use it on us – I’m more afraid she might hurt herself.”  
          An uncomfortable silence gels in the air.  
          “With all due respect, ma’am, you seemed the best candidate to talk to her. She was only six when it happened. That life… has been all she knows.”  
           _She’s only nineteen._ It sparks something within her; melts some of the ice. _She still has her whole life ahead of her._ “If you can contain it until we arrive, I’ll see what I can do.” The people, the events – all things she’s long since let go of. Supposedly. Hopefully. Certainly. “But Lieutenant… I’m not promising anything.”  
          “I’m not asking you to. It’s a long shot. It’s just… better than the rest of us.”  
          “I understand. I’ll radio in when we arrive.”  
          The comm clicks off. Shepard leaves the cabin as fast as her legs can take her.  
          There’s a guillotine waiting at the Citadel.

          The room connecting the med bay is dark, save for the light emanating from the single monitor. It illuminates Liara’s face as she leans forward. In the blur Shepard catches a couple words _– Prothean – hypothesis – disproven –_  
          “You’re just gonna read in the dark?”  
          Liara jolts upright. ”Commander! I –” She glances back to the screen. “I’ve been… checking. Seeing if there’s been any new developments since I started my dig at Therum. There’s… nothing new.”  
          Shepard clicks on the light. Liara’s kept to herself since being rescued. Perhaps in part it’s because of her connection to Saren, but there also seems to be a streak of introversion to the asari. “Well, just thought it bears saying out loud – while we’re docked at the Citadel you’re free to do what you will, as long as you remain on call. You’re not under arrest or anything.” It’s easy to keep her voice light. There’s no hint of the heavy pit in her stomach. Or is there?  
          Liara exhales loudly, smiling. “I appreciate the thought, Commander. I know you’re making a huge leap of faith trusting me. I’ll say it again – I would never do anything to help Saren.”  
          “Can I ask…?” Shepard crosses her arms. “If you have any idea at all why your mother would join him?”  
          “I can only say that I know my mother is not evil.” Liara looks down at her hands and clasps them. “Something had to have happened. Maybe she has some sort of plan, or…” She looks back up to Shepard almost pleadingly. “Asari always try to look at the long-term well-being of the galaxy, especially those at the Matriarch stage of life.”  
          It sounds dangerously like an excuse, but Shepard lets it go. Liara’s not a soldier; compared to the rest of the crew, she seems to have led a sheltered life. Not that it’s a bad thing – but it seems almost criminal to drag her in to business like this.  
          “That view of things is a product of our lifespans, in comparison to the other races, of course,” Liara continues, almost to herself. “Just one of the many things that causes us to be misunderstood –”  
          “Misunderstood?” Shepard tilts her head to the side. _Help make the doctor feel more at ease on the ship. Forget about a girl with a gun on the Citadel._ “Like what?”  
          Liara snaps back to reality. “Ah, for example… our lifespans do not ensure quick healing like a krogan. It is merely an advanced biological method of repairing telomeres, and – oh!” She stands, keeping her hands clasped. “Speaking of biology, many races find our method of reproduction very exotic, and it leads to many rumors –” She stops, uncomfortable with the topic.  
          “Asari can have children with any race, right?” It’s practically the most well-known trait of them as a whole.  
          “Well, yes. So to speak. We can influence the nervous system with our innate biotic ability. This can lead to many things – experiencing someone else’s memories, transferring mental information, and the like. But we… can also use it to map the DNA of another, use that map as a template to create a new life to carry.”  
          “And the child is always asari.”  
          “Correct, Commander. I see you are more knowledgeable than some. But it’s like any other species’ union. The asari mother and her partner – the child’s father, I suppose – raise them as any other parents would.”  
          “Is it rude to ask an asari who her father was?” Perhaps it’s her youth, but Liara is strangely approachable for one of the galaxy’s ancient race of self-appointed guides.  
          “Of course not. It is… normally a point of pride.” Liara hesitates, then sits back down. “Asari encourage inter-species children. While they are always purely genetic asari, it is believed that each child brings the best of the other species in their melded genes. Because of this, even among asari, the subject of an individual’s father is widely discussed.”  
          “So, what about yours, then?” Shepard smiles. _Okay. I think I’m catching on to this._  
          “I do not know who my father is, Commander.” Liara glances to the ground. “I only that she is an asari as well. The slang for someone like me is… ‘pureblood’. I hope no one would be so cruel as to say it to my face. Offspring with two asari parents are considered a taboo subject. With them, it is said, ‘nothing is gained’”  
          The shock is a sudden numb. Shepard says, “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. That’s not – It’s not something I would expect from the asari. I mean –”  
          “You only asked a question, and there is never harm in that. I suppose that it is indeed something that one would only know from living among our culture. It is not a view that is openly shared among the other races.” Liara shakes her head. “I only hesitated to bring it up because I was unsure if humans carried these beliefs as well.”  
          “We don’t, Liara. I mean, we have our share of irrational prejudice, but… you don’t have to worry about that. Thank you for trusting me, though.”  
          Liara frowns, studying Shepard for a few bewildered moments. “Why… are you speaking with me at such length, Commander? I am not very interesting. I have not had experiences similar to the other members of your crew. I have only spent my time going on digs, studying the Protheans.”  
          Shepard can work with this change of subject. “There had to be things you liked about those digs. I mean, the Protheans are pretty interesting, right?”  
          “Right!” She brightens considerably. “And I never thought I would be lucky enough to hear of a Prothean beacon which was intact enough to transmit so much information! Let alone meet the woman who encountered it! The things we might learn from you…”  
          “Okay, calm down there,” Shepard says, suppressing a grin and holding up her hands. “No need to go dissecting me just yet.”  
          “Oh!” Liara presses a hand to her mouth. “I only mean you would make an interesting specimen for the hypothesis that – Oh, that’s worse – you’ve been so kind to me, and I do not mean to imply –“  
          “Doctor.” Shepard speaks as firmly as she dares. “I was only joking.”  
          Liara stares back in abject silence. “Commander, this… this is why I participate in digs, and not prolonged social conversations.” She clears her throat. “I appreciate the gesture of allowing me to leave the Normandy upon reaching the Citadel. However, I believe I will remain aboard the ship.”  
          “That’s fine. As long as there’s no misunderstanding.” Shepard catches her fidget and glance furtively to the computer monitor. No need to keep pressing the conversation when she’s so clearly done. “I’ll leave you to your work, Doctor.”

           _Good thing T’soni is so hard to offend,_ Shepard thinks dryly as she heads to the helm. _I sure blundered my through that one._ At least it was enough to calm Shepard down from the initial shock of her conversation with Girard, but that’s something that Liara doesn’t need to know.  
          Waiting for her is an escaped slave, a full ten years her junior. What is she supposed to say? It’s not like her past gives her some sort of special insight to the affair. The batarians and their affinity for slavery isn't exactly some big secret. _They claim it’s a vital part of their culture. A necessary tier of their caste system._  
          A fate that, for all intents and purposes, was meant for her.  
          Shepard moves through the CIC on her way to the helm. Ashley stands to the side with Navigator Pressly, speaking in hushed tones. They glance over as she enters, and share a look.  
          Ashley wastes no time in falling in step next to Shepard as she passes, looking just a little too casual. “Commander. Have you got a minute? I’ve got some things I want to discuss. Off the record.”  
          A dialogue between her navigator and NCO? There’s one thing that they have in common. Shepard braces for it. “Sure. What’s the concern?”  
          Ashley keeps her face blank. “This is your command. I’m not questioning your judgment. But… Doctor T’soni… Urdnot and Vakarian and Zorah… should they have full access to the ship?”  
          There it is. Shepard halts just before the helm, turning back to Ashley. So much for Williams getting used to the idea of serving with nonhumans.  
          No matter what, this has to stay diplomatic.  
          “This is the most advanced ship in the Alliance Navy,” Ashely blurts before Shepard can answer. “And they can go wherever they please. Sensors, weapons, anything.”  
          “I’m not locking them all in the messdeck. They’re our allies.” Shepard says.  
          “I disagree. We can’t allow ourselves to rely on them.”  
          “Williams… How do you get from humans relying on themselves to mistrusting our allies?”  
          “They’re not our allies!” Ashley pulls back the quick burst of anger. “Commander, they will abandon us if it comes down to it.”  
          “Not necessarily. That’s a very broad generalization, Williams.”  
          “Look, ma’am… It’s like if a hunter gets attacked by a bear. The hunter lets the dog attack so he can get away. He loves the dog, he takes good care of it… but the dog always takes the fall. Members of the same species are always favored.”  
          If she thinks that aliens see her that way, how does that speak to how she views them in return? Ashley is a promising soldier, and Shepard believes that she is a good person. But this conviction… “This metaphor sounds familiar. Terra Firma’s not a good wagon to hitch to.”  
          “I am not Terra Firma,” Ashley says with barely concealed fire. “We can coexist with aliens fine. We just can’t rely on them to be there when things get tough. It’s part of the reason I joined the Alliance; to serve humanity. Not the Council’s interests. Because they’re not the same.”  
           _Only part of the reason?_ “You’ve transferred to the Normandy. You have to work with aliens.” She regards Ashley for another moment, keeping her face stony. “Do you regret coming starside?”  
          “No, ma’am!” Ashley snaps to attention so quickly Shepard’s afraid she might have hurt herself. “I appreciate the opportunity, Commander.” Her eyes focus back for a split second, then return to the far-off at-attention stare. “I’ve said my piece, ma’am.”  
          Shepard lets the silence run amok for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Dismissed.” Then she turns and opens the door to the helm.  
          Shepard takes a moment as the door closes behind her. Ashley can claim to disavow Terra Firma all she wants – but that allegory isn’t kind, and isn’t too far from what the political group spews themselves. Unlike Pressly, Ashley may be fighting on the ground side by side with their nonhuman crew. If she can’t resolve this cognitive dissonance, they’re all in for a hard time.  
          Maybe there’s a reason she’s never served starside.  
          “Commander.” Joker acknowledges her without looking back. When she doesn’t answer, he throws a quick glance. “Something wrong? Oh. Did… Williams talk to you?”  
          Shepard frowns and raises her chin. “How did you know that?”  
          “She _said_ she was going to talk to you. Wanted my opinion on the subject before she did.”  
          “And you said?”  
          Joker shrugs and turns back to the flight console. “I told her not to waste your time. I gotta appreciate the fact she still brought it up. We’re kind of flying on a ship the turians helped us build.”  
          The words are light enough, but there’s a forceful tone in his voice. Shepard relaxes just a little. “So you don’t agree.”  
          “Eh, no offense ma’am, but we’re just a tad in over our heads here. I’m not gonna turn down help over some stupid arrogance.” He scratches the side of his face. “Also, I have this post because of Captain Anderson… and General Invectus. So I might see the benefits of getting along more than other people.”  
          “General Invectus? The turian representative at the Normandy test flight?” Shepard’s immediately curious. “Sounds like a story.”  
          She watches him expectantly.  
          He glances back at her.  
          “You going to elaborate?”  
          “Not if I can help it. I mean, it's a great story, but...” He gives her a grave look. “We’re almost to the Citadel. I’d hate to have to cut it short.”  
          “Nice evasion.”  
          “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
          “Just open the PA, Moreau.” She leans over and addresses the comm. “Normandy crew. We’re docking in fifteen. Everyone is clear to leave, but be on call to board at all times.” She takes a breath. “I’m on assignment. Vakarian, Alenko, you’re with me.”

          He waits at the end of the boarding ramp, glowering death up at the docked ship.  
          Shepard’s first reaction is to turn right back around and tell Joker to take off. But instead she walks briskly down the ramp, keeping her head high and her back stiff and straight. Duty calls. Hopefully the others will have the good sense to stay on the ship until all this blows over.  
          If it blows over.  
          “Rear Admiral Mikhailovich.” Shepard says, nodding. She’ll let him bite first. She crushes down the impatience – yes, there’s someone out there who needs her help – _someone from Mindoir_ – but there’s no hurrying this man. Not for her.  
          “Spare me the pleasantries, Commander.” He continues to study the ship. “Your little escapade has cost me this ship. Cost me the crew. Cost me you.” He finally turns his head, scowling. “Now that the Council’s got their tentacles – claws – whatever – into you.”  
          Shepard fights back the frown. “I still serve the Alliance, sir. In fact, the Council themselves seem to be taking a very… hands-off approach to all this.”  
          “Give them time. Soon, you’ll have forgotten what color your blood is, just like the men who helped the birds build this overdesigned piece of tin. For all the money and element zero this thing needed, we could have built a dozen ships!”  
          “This is a state of the art starship.” Shepard keeps her remarks short and flat. Ignore the dismissal of her ship. Hell, ignore the casual slur against the turians. _The hunter and his dog, Admiral?_ “The stealth capabilities may not be your preference, but it has been immensely useful to us thus far. It allowed us to drop down on several worlds without alerting the geth presence there. I have no doubt it’s going to prove instrumental in bringing the terrorist Saren Arterius to justice. For Eden Prime.”  
          He scrutinizes her closely. “Here is my brand new starship, commanded by an N7 marine who was to serve under my command, saddled up with aliens and sent on a wild goose chase. You and Anderson may be able to hide behind that screaming toddler Udina for now, but we’ll see what the Alliance has to say once all this is over.”  
          Shepard watches him stroll back down the docks into the passenger elevators. The Council names her Spectre to appease Udina and keep the Saren debacle under wraps. Udina coerces Anderson to resign, who in turn maneuvers to ensure the Normandy and crew go to his protégé’s command. Mikhailovich loses a ship and crew, probably for more reasons that aren’t hers to know. Admiral Hackett approves the whole affair for motives of his own. And Shepard herself is in the middle, an N7 operative who is great at manipulating a battlefield from behind the scope of a sniper rifle – but helpless at the political mess she’s in.  
          Her head hurts.  
          The airlock bay doors open at the top of the ramp with a mechanical hiss. Kaidan saunters out with a deliberate caution. Behind him Garrus follows, watching the closed elevator warily.  
          “Danger gone, Commander?” Kaidan asks. He smiles, but it’s strained. A surprise visit from a Rear Admiral is a bad omen. The fact that it’s Mikhailovich adds to the difficulty.  
          “He’s gone. Thanks for staying behind. He’s not happy that the Normandy went to me and not him.”  
          “Mmm.” Garrus is still watching the elevator where the ornery Admiral left. “Should we be worried?”  
          “No. Admiral Hackett and the rest of the Alliance brass approved the decision.” For a second she forgets that Garrus wouldn’t know who Hackett is. He seems to understand enough. “He can’t do anything.”  
           _Can he?_  
          She gives Mikhailovich plenty of time to get ahead of them – no sense in running into him again. On the trip down the elevator, she checks her omni-tool, at the coordinates given to her by Girard. It’s meaningless to her.  
          She holds out her arm. “Vakarian. This mean anything to you?”  
          He studies the information. “Looks like it’s a docking warehouse, a level below here.” He waits for clarification, but she offers none.  
          “Ma’am? What’s the nature of this assignment?” Kaidan asks. “The Council patched through to us on the way back, right? Did they have any new information on Saren?”  
          “The Council didn’t have anything. They just wanted a report.” The door dings open, and Shepard walks out. “This is an assignment... of a personal nature.”  
          Kaidan hesitates and clears his throat as they follow. “There’s something wrong here, Commander. Saren’s investigating galactic extinctions, and Prothean technology, and… the Council doesn’t seem to care. Even though he’s their agent. There’s some writing on the wall, and we’re the only ones who are seeing it.”  
          “We’ll get it done, Alenko. Doesn’t matter who believes us.” She knows that’s not really what Kaidan wanted to say, but neither he nor Vakarian pry any further.  
          The connection lobby contains stairwells and elevators that lead the different docking areas of the Citadel; public stations for everyday civilians to use, private docks for the more moneyed clientele, and a separate sector for the military forces of each race. A wide set of glass double doors leads out to the rest of the Citadel. A gathering area is bordered with kiosks for renting skycars. At first glance the milling crowds show nothing out of the ordinary. But then – an elevator off to the right is cordoned off by C-Sec officers. They part as Shepard approaches. A turian officer motions to the doors.  
          “Commander. Alliance Lieutenant Girard has notified us you’d be coming. We’re here supporting him.” He even presses the button for them. “Right this way, ma’am. Girard is waiting downstairs.”  
          The doors close behind them, and still her squad pose no questions. She had told them it was a personal assignment, and both of them had simply accepted the explanation. Trusted her. The guilt adds a sharp twist to the nausea of what she’s about to face.  
          “I received a message from an Alliance Lieutenant named Girard on our arrival into the Citadel,” Shepard begins. Thankfully, her voice stays even. It’s just a mission briefing. That’s all.  
          “He notified me that they freed a woman from a batarian workship.” She doesn’t have to elaborate. Batarians only have one kind of labor. Steadying herself for their responses, she finishes, “She was taken during the attack on Mindoir.”  
          For their part, neither man visibly reacts. Kaidan’s aware of her history, certainly, but she’s not sure about Vakarian.  
          “What’s our mission, ma’am?” Kaidan asks calmly.  
           _Oh, right. Dammit._ “She escaped from the medical workers. Girard is afraid she’s going to hurt herself. He wants me to talk to her.” She softly clears her throat.  
          “What can we do for you? Anything?” Garrus asks. The gentle way he says it – he knows. _Don’t be an idiot. He left everything to work on your ship. Why wouldn’t he look into the Alliance commander he’s serving?_  
          She only just realizes she’s completely tensed up. Forcing her shoulders down, Shepard takes a deep lungful of air. “Just – never bring up what’s about to happen.”

          The warehouse is hot and stifling, the air itself filled with some kind of ambient mechanical thrum. There are massive freighter crates, boxes on tall storage racks, and dormant forklifts here and there. A ways down the makeshift passageways between the shelves, a tight group of C-Sec officers and Alliance soldiers stand. Shepard makes an effort to move quietly – she can see the group is speaking low amidst themselves.  
          A man breaks from the group, striding quickly to meet her. “Ma’am,” Girard says, giving her squad a polite nod. Then he clears his throat. “The woman’s name is Talitha. She’s barricaded herself just around the corner. She still… has the gun.” He hands Shepard a tiny green pill. “This is a sedative. If you can convince her to take it, we already have a facility ready to accept her for treatment.”  
          Shepard keeps the pill in her fist. She still doesn’t understand what he expects her to do. “Understood.” She looks back to Kaidan and Garrus. “Keep a distance back.”  
          They both look concerned – she never mentioned this girl had a gun, she realizes. But they obey.  
          Shepard rounds the corner between two storage shelves. Halfway down is a phalanx of crates, and huddled against them is the girl, wearing the white scrub shirt and pants that Alliance patients are given. Her head is shaved and covered in scars.  
          She looks up sharply as Shepard approaches, then bounds to her feet. They’re bare, covered in scars. A middle toe is missing.  
          “Stop!” she gasps, pointing a shaking pistol. Her nose is narrow, cheekbones high – even past the emaciated quality of her face, she’s bluntly pretty. “The animals said that – a shepherd is coming. Are you the shepherd?”  
          “That’s me. I’m… Claire Shepard.” Shepard raises both her hands, keeping her fingers clenched over the pill. “I just want to talk to you. Can you tell me your name?”  
          “Don’t get names! Animals get symbols, burned into the back by the Masters. She screamed every time they did it!”  
          Shepard swallows, hard. “You’re not an animal. You have a name. What did your parents call you? Do you remember?”  
          “It’s there. What they called her before. They said ‘Talitha’. She… doesn’t know the rest.” The tears well up and spill almost instantly. “Go away!”  
          “Your parents. Tell me about them.”  
          “They yelled. Ran and hid. But the Masters see all, with lights and guns. Mommy… Mommy melted!” She clenches her free fist and strikes the side of her own face. “Don’t look! Stupid!”  
           _Her father rushes them out the door, shuts it behind them as he follows. He lets go of Mom’s hand, goes to lock it, to bar the way. A white beam blows the door off, charred and smoking. Her father falls, charred and smoking._  
          Shepard swallows down the acid. “Talitha, I – ”  
          “When she remembers, waters comes out of her eyes. The Masters beat her!” She takes several ragged breathes, almost wails. “They got caught in the white light, got burned to pieces! They couldn’t save her! Smoke, screaming, wires. Wires in their brains! Lay down, tried to play dead! The Masters knew!”  
          For a few long moments she just sobs. Then she looks up again. “Shepherd, can she stop remembering now?”  
          Still holding her hands up, Shepard takes a slow, deliberate step forward. “Tell me something else, then. Tell me how you escaped.”  
          “There is no escape! Never escape! There are wires, and needles! You try, you get caught! They use the wires to take your mind!” For a few moments the gun lowers away from Shepard.  
          “The animals came,” she finally says in a thin, trembling voice as she raises the gun again. “Animals like her. They hurt the Masters. She tried to help – she did! Tried to put the wet back in, put the red and purple… back inside…!” the words dissolve into a keening wail.  
          “It’s all right. You tried to help them. The – Masters.” The word tastes like poison in her mouth. “Like they taught you.”  
          “The animals can’t be real. They can’t! She’d always dream it, and it was never real!” The tears come to Talitha’s eyes again. “The animals, the shepherd, they can’t be real. That means it’s over, and it’s never over.”  
          Shepard lets her go silent for a few moments. Then she begins to step forward. “I’m going to take a step forward…”  
          It’s the sound of the footstep that sets her off. Talitha goes rigid, holding out the pistol. “Stop! Shepherd-animal! Don’t touch her! Stop asking questions!”  
          There’s no getting around it. Shepard’s here for a reason. She is acutely aware of Alenko and Vakarian, waiting with the soldiers just around the corner. Well within earshot.  
          “Talitha, I’m from Mindoir. Like you. I was sixteen when they came.”  
           _“Get hit for lying!”_ A few ragged breaths, then through clenched teeth she asks, “How did the shepherd escape?”  
          “I escaped because I was lucky. Because my mother stayed behind. That’s it.”  
          “Why isn’t it broken?! It’s only fit to carry! Like all the animals!”  
           _A single gunshot cracks._  
           _Her mother._  
          “How do you know I wasn’t broken? My parents died in that attack. My mother – shot – killed herself, rather than let herself be taken. Everyone – everything I knew was gone. I was ready to give up. But…” Shepard takes a deep breath. “I had to keep going, sooner or later. I had to stand up.”  
          “She wishes she could stand up.” It’s barely a whisper.  
          Shepard takes a single step forward. She’s within arm’s length, now. Talitha cries out, but shrinks away and presses her arms around her face. “Don’t touch her! She’s dirty!” She watches Shepard past the frame of her fists. “The shepherd will catch it…”  
          “Talitha. Give me the gun.”  
          Talitha reaches forward and holds out the gun. Very slowly Shepard takes it with her free hand. She holds out the other hand, opens her fist.  
          It takes a few heartbeats for Talitha to study the tiny green pill. “What it is?”  
          “Something to make you sleep. When you wake up, the people there will help you get better.”  
          Talitha picks it out of Shepard’s palm like it’s made of gold. “Will there be bad dreams?”  
          “No.”  
          Talitha carefully puts the pill to her mouth and swallows. She takes a few more breaths, then steps forward, closing the gap between them and throwing her arms around Shepard. “They told us there was no such thing as monsters,” she says, burying her face against the side of Shepard’s neck. “Why did they tell us that?”  
          “It was supposed to be true.”

          Shepard sits on the crate beside where Talitha had stood, elbows on her knees, staring at the ground. They’ve already taken her away to whatever Alliance medical crew. Girard thanked her, awkwardly, and left. The C-Sec officers left. Alenko and Vakarian are still just around the corner, for all she knows, but with her back facing that way she hasn’t seen them since she went to talk down the girl.  
           _Never bring up what’s about to happen._ They have their orders.  
          She considers sending them back to the ship, but Saren’s forces could attack at any time, which is the reason they’re here in the first place. She can’t take that chance over stupid pride.  
          So close. It was so close to being her life. Being her fate. She wouldn’t be ready to stand here and preach had things gone just a little different. She tries to imagine that life – seeing herself as an animal, revering the batarians on her workship. _Wires in their brains._  
          And she had lived – because of dumb luck and the sacrifice of others. If the choices had gone differently, maybe her mother could have survived. But she’d just been left to die. As if Claire Shepard was so special –  
           _Stop._  
          Even after thirteen years and Alliance treatment, the shadow still lingers. It doesn’t seem right. After all this time and all the therapy, she was able to – what had she said? Stand up. But she wouldn’t ever be the same person she was before. She wouldn’t be the person her mother tried to save.  
          Shepard inhales, holds the breath for a long time. As she exhales, her omni-tool gives a chirp.  
          It’s a script message from the Normandy.  
          She opens it.  
           _Commander,_ it reads. _Anderson sent you a gift. And it’s not even your birthday! So jealous._  
          Shepard stands with a single motion and turns. Anderson would only contact her regarding one thing. Never mind who actually sent this message.  
          She rounds the corner like a tidal wave, startling her squad. “Commander?!” Alenko says.  
          “Message from Joker. Anderson’s sent us something.” She steels herself, pushes herself onward.  
          “About Saren?”  
          “Let’s hope so, Lieutenant.”  
          Duty calls.

          The crowds of the arrivals and departures of the Citadel docks go on about their lives as if nothing happened – which, to them, it didn’t. When Shepard was young, the thought infuriated her. But since then, she’s taken part in that day-to-day bustle, taken comfort in it. She can pretend, and even participate, too. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best she can do.  
          She begins the trek across the lobby to the elevator that will take her back to the Alliance docks. Anderson’s “gift” is waiting, a tangible goal for her to reach. From point A to B. No problem.  
           _Are you the shepherd?_  
          “Commander Shepard!” A woman’s unfamiliar voice calls out to her. Shepard halts, turns in its direction. Kaidan and Garrus turn too, looking guarded. Soldiers on alert.  
          A tall, thin woman wobbles dangerously as she hurries over, her movement hindered by the narrow circumference of the red-and-blue dress she wears. It seems a terrible choice of clothing in a crowded place like this, until the floating disc straggling behind her finally catches up.  
          An auto-cam. A reporter.  
          “Commander, Khalisah al-Jilani, Westerlund News! Can I ask for a word or two? I’d like some clarification for all the wild stories we’d been hearing!”  
          Kaidan shoots her a sharp sideways glance. Shepard is grateful for the concern, but with all the ground-shaking events that have surrounded her lately, it’s not surprising. It’s just another up-and-coming journalist looking to be the first with the big story. People of all races give them a wide berth in the bustle of the lobby, and more than a few slow down or stop to look at the spectacle.  
           _The public face of the Alliance is just as important as anything else. Always give them the first story, Shepard. That’s what people remember. If they start making things up, you’ll never outrun the rumors._ Anderson’s advice.  
          Well, there are other kinds of duty, too.  
          “I can say a few words. I will warn, however, that some subjects may be classified.” She switches to a standard parade-rest. A calm, sharp soldier. It’s even easier to pretend as the little red light on the auto-cam blinks on.  
          “So, Commander Shepard,” Khalisah says, practically beaming. “Humanity has gotten very little respect since discovering our system’s mass relay and joining the galaxy. Knowing that, how do you feel being the first human Spectre?”  
           _Oh. Oh… So that’s how it is._ The calm veneer doesn’t crack. Shepard stares straight ahead, right at the camera.  
          “I’m honored. Spectres are the best of the best. We haven’t been post-relay for very long, so it was a surprise, but I’m privileged to be representing humanity in my new position.” Your move.  
          The reporter’s eyebrows lower, just a tiny bit. “But you report to the Council now. What happens when they put their own interests above humanity’s?”  
          “How can that be possible? You said yourself that humanity joined the galactic community. The Council serves this community.” Compared to trying to talk a newly escaped slave out of shooting herself, this interview is revealed for the trite thing that it is. Shepard wishes she could focus a little better, really keep going with this thread of thought, but the ordeal with Talitha left her wrung out and raw.  
          “You were given control of the Normandy, weren’t you, Commander? It was the most advanced starship developed by the Alliance to date?”  
          “Actually…” It’s not common knowledge, but it’s not classified information, either. Time to gamble. “It should be known that the Normandy was cooperatively developed by both the Alliance and the turian Hierarchy. It’s a product of our – ”  
          “And now this ship has just been – _handed_ – over to the Council!?” The sudden outburst attracts even more bystanders.  
          Shepard tilts her chin down, just a little. “I wasn’t aware it had been handed anywhere, miss. It’s under my command, and I’ve been receiving intel from Alliance sources for my mission, not the Citadel. This appointment doesn’t mean I’ve cut all ties.” It bears repeating, especially in front of a camera. _It’s your mission, councilors. He’s your rogue agent. Throw me a bone here._  
          “Your current mission? Rumors say it has something to do with hunting a rogue Spectre who attacked human colony. Doesn’t this prove that the Council is abusing their power? How do you feel about that event, being a both a native and survivor of the agrarian colony of Mindoir?”  
           _No._ “I’m afraid that my current mission is confidential. I have no comment.” Her voice is polite over the flash of temper. Shepard knows better than to give over classified information like some star-struck idiot. Adding to that, Khalisah’s comment was a cheap shot even without what just happened in the warehouse, and both women know it.  
           _Anything for some drama._ Shepard fantasizes about slugging her in the face.  
          “Confidential, hmm? I think humanity has a right to know –”  
          “Mission details are only given out during authorized press conferences by designated officials, Miss al-Jilani. _That_ is Systems Alliance policy.”  
          She stares back at Shepard. “We’ll see about that.” The red light on the auto-cam goes dark, and Khalisah turns and stalks away. The multitude of people part easily for the frustrated reporter and her straggling auto-cam.  
          Garrus watches her go, and Shepard wonders if the subject of the conversation offended him. Turian body language is limited enough, but out here, he’s not giving anything away.  
          Kaidan looks back to Shepard and nods. “That was… a thing a beauty, Commander.”  
          “Forget about her.” Shepard's talking to herself and Alenko both. _Mindoir. How - dare she?_ Around them, the small crowd continues to disperse. An asari leads her daughters away, laughing. Two turian women lean back and forth to whisper something to each other before finally moving on. An elcor watches from the side, very slowly cocking his wide head to the side. Turning abruptly, Shepard leads the walk back to the Alliance docks. The various crowds around them part ways as she stalks through. "We’ve got a job to do.” 

          The Normandy’s in flight, the mission lies before them, the comm room is full for the next briefing. In these circumstances, Shepard’s no longer a colony brat running from batarian pirates. She’s an Alliance commander. The one doing the hunting. It’s a feeling powerful enough to bury herself in.  
          However, the Prothean vision returns along with that conviction. The intensity of the images in her mind’s eye remains more or less the same, but now there’s a kind of pressure behind them that pounds out each time one breaches her conscious thoughts. The ferocity of it even makes her neck stiff and achy.  
          The progression must be leading to something – death, insanity? Has anyone ever been killed interacting with Prothean technology? Should she ask Liara? Does she even want to really know? If it’s going to happen, what exactly can anyone do for her? Shepard slowly raises her head, looking to the images displayed across the vid screen before the gathered crew.  
           _Get to work._  
          A planet displays across one side, swirling blue and white. A red company logo occupies the other half.  
          “Noveria. It’s privately owned by a corporation imaginatively called… Noveria Development. It’s funded by investments from a bunch of big technology firms that have labs established around the planet. The planet itself is an icy abyss that’s barely habitable –”  
          “Cold planet.” Wrex says. “Pass.”  
          Shepard shoots him a glance. “The place is technically a colony, but isn’t authorized by any species’ government and accepts no aid, not even from the Citadel. Therefore, they’re also technically not under jurisdiction of either the Council or any separate military. This makes it a lone bubble of Terminus space, technically –”  
          “That’s a lot of technically, ma’am,” Kaidan says. “What’s going on here?”  
          “Less than a solar day ago, there were sightings of geth starships in the perimeter of the planet’s active airspace,” Shepard says, glancing back down at the report. “They petitioned to the Council for a patrol, in ‘the interest of galactic peace.’ Lucky for them the Alliance volunteered for a quick look around. The crusier they sent filed back the official report - no irregular activity. The Noverian ground control was quick to shoo them away once the all-clear was sounded.”  
          The faces staring back her, human and alien alike, are nonplussed. She continues, “So, in leading up to this, the Alliance requests traffic logs of ships going through the planet’s only spaceport, in the interest of accuracy during the surveillance. One of the entries in this log was a private starship in the name a certain Binary Helix investor named Saren Arterius.”  
          Suddenly everyone’s sitting up straight, leaning forward.  
          “This is going to be complicated, Commander. Even for a Spectre,” Garrus says.  
          “She’s here on orders from the Council,” Ashley says tersely. “What’s complicated about that?”  
          “Like Commander Shepard said, Chief Williams,” Garrus answers, “Noveria is technically Terminus space. Council laws don’t apply there. Those companies went through all that trouble for one reason: to allow the right to perform research normally outlawed in Citadel space. The other perk is that no one can go poking around on that planet without their say-so.” Garrus looks unhappier with every word. “In fact, I already had information that Saren was pumping a heavy amount of credits into a Noverian corporation. _They_ shut that down before C-Sec ever did. They didn’t even need to appeal it.”  
          Shepard frowns. The pounding in her head keeps interrupting her train of thought. “Vakarian. It was your investigation that tipped off Anderson to second-check the logs.”  
          She’s expecting him to perk up. He doesn’t. “I’m glad it amounted to something, at least.”  
          “Wait. Wait a minute here.” Tali holds up both her hands. “This place has to let Shepard in. They have to. Even in the Flotilla we have stories about Spectres – the Council’s agents are allowed to do whatever – it – takes to fulfill their appointed missions. They’re above the law. If they turn her away, shouldn’t they be afraid she’ll blow up the place?”  
          “Oh, they can let her groundside,” Garrus says. He looks to Shepard. “And then bury you in procedures and red tape.”  
          Tied up in regulations. Sounds like Garrus’ personal hell. “This is important to Saren. Very important. They saw geth vessels, and it was one of his ships down there. We need to find out why.” It’s frustrating. Between the visions and this news about Noveria, she can’t decide the next plan of action.  
          “I don’t disagree,” Garrus says. “If anyone can do it, it would be a Spectre. But like I said, it’s going to be complicated. Barring some miracle, of course.”  
          “Well, we’re still a few hours out. Plenty of time for a miracle,” Shepard says. “I’ll announce ground team when we get closer in.” _Because I can’t begin to formulate tactics for a mission like this with my head splitting apart._ She presses a command on the vid screen and it goes dark. ”Dismissed.”

          “There’s nothing out of place on your scan, Commander.” Doctor Chakwas shakes her head. “Of course, there are plenty of things that can trigger pain without giving a physical signs. Lieutenant Alenko’s L2 migraines, for instance. There’s little we can do in that situation besides manage the symptoms.”  
          “Alenko. What do you do to help him?”  
          She smiles sympathetically. “Pain medication and rest, Shepard.” She waits for the space of one heartbeat, then asks, “Is this from that reaction you had to the artifact on Eden Prime?”  
          Shepard looks down. ‘What if… it is?”  
          “It’s just my personal opinion, but whatever effects it’s still having on you are probably exacerbated by stress. How much time do we have until we reach Noveria?”  
          “A few hours. Why?”  
          Chakwas pulls a bottle from one of her cabinets and palms something. “As Chief Medical Officer, I’m giving you orders, Commander. Get some rest, at least for an hour or two. Alenko can handle anything that happens in the meantime. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a helping hand, either.”  
          She offers Shepard the contents from the bottle – a white pill. “Here. Something for the pain. Now go back to your cabin and get some sleep.”  
          The sight of the pill in her hand – _something to make you sleep._ Shepard picks it up. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll… do that.”  
           _A heap of corpses. Stragglers wander the base of it, lost and confused._  
          Outside the door to the med bay, Tali is waiting for Shepard to exit. “Commander. I heard you went to see the Normandy’s doctor. Are you… all right?”  
          “Tali.” Shepard stops, holds herself a little straighter. “It’s fine. It’s just… stress.”  
          “Well, you’ve had a lot of it. Just remember we’re all here for you.”  
          “Thanks, Tali. I mean it.” Shepard gives a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s only going to worse from here on out, huh?”  
          There’s no answer. “Hmm? Tali?”  
          “Oh! Sorry, Commander. I guess I zoned out there. I’m…” Her sigh is raspy and synthetic through the suit’s speaker. “It’s harder serving on a human ship than I thought. I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”  
          “Like what?”  
          “For one thing, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. The Normandy runs too quiet, Shepard!” She shudders heavily. “Here, there’s no engine sound, or vibrations… On the Flotilla, a silent ship means an engine’s failed, or… or… the air filters shut down.”  
          There it is – now she’s back to her animated self. But having to constantly worry about an entire starship’s engine failing, or running out of air? With a team of dedicated engineers, it’s not an outcome Shepard’s ever had to consider, let alone worry about every night.  
          “And it feels so… empty here,” Tali goes on, nodding to herself. “It’s like we’re running on a skeleton crew, or everyone’s missing, or something. On the Flotilla, ships are packed – it’s our whole people living there. Here, you can go between two rooms and never see another person. I never thought I’d say it, but… I actually kind of miss it now.”  
          Shepard can’t help but smile. “Sounds like you’re homesick, Tali. It happens to everyone when they leave to see the worlds around them.”  
          “I wonder if that’s another point to the Pilgrimage,” Tali says. “Growing up, I heard of others leaving for it, and then they never returned. I always thought that something bad happened to them. But now I wonder… what if they left, and liked something out here better? What if they… just chose to never go back?”  
          Shepard starts to speak and then thinks better of it. Deciding not to go back? That’s something deeply personal, and she’s only learning this much about quarians from talking to Tali herself. It’s not something Shepard has any business commenting on.  
          “I could… never abandon my people,” Tali finally finishes. “I have to go back, eventually. But only after – I’ve helped you. This crew is so kind; you included, Shepard. I could never abandon you, either.”  
          “I… Thank you, Tali.” From her tone, Shepard’s getting the idea that some kind of decision has just been made, but she’s not sure what.  
          “It’s my pleasure, Commander.” Tali says, sounding heartened. “And please, try to take it easy. We’ll figure something out for Noveria. I know we will.”  
          Shepard nods, still smiling, but the mention of the planet drops her mood. Parting ways with Tali, Shepard makes her way to the captain’s cabin.  
          True to Tali’s observation, she meets no one else on the trip.  
          In the silence of her own quarters – _formerly Anderson’s quarters_ – Shepard just stands in the middle of the room. Absently she realizes that she’s still holding the analgesic from Doctor Chakwas. She pops it in her mouth, swallows, and looks around.  
          That’s really all there is? _Take the pill, sleep, wake up, and…_ She should be out and about, preparing for this mission. But Chakwas and now Tali know she’s supposed to be resting.  
          Stiffly Shepard lowers herself on the bed, closes her eyes.  
           _When you wake up, the people there will help you get better.  
          Dark starships, above a planet on fire._


	7. Cards on the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I gave Garrus' dad a freaking first name. If Garrus is going to have that many daddy issues, I can give the dude a name.
> 
> \- It's actually weird giving Liara justification for going into combat. She's supposedly so young and sheltered, and she's just gonna go charging into battle? I tried to smooth it out.
> 
> \- Gave Wrex's story about meeting Saren a little more relevance, since in the game it's mentioned once and then promptly forgotten. So let's give it some foreshadowing!
> 
> \- In the interest of the Noveria arc not being insufferably bloated, I cut out a LOT of the RPG fetch-quest segments for meeting Anoleis; as such, a couple characters and plot points got nixed completely.

          Shepard is feeling better than she thought possible. What’s exactly responsible remains unclear – the sleep? The shower? The food? As far as she can discern, the effects of the vision seem to come and go as they please, striking more often when she tries to recall the images.  
           _So don’t think about them._ She sets her mind on the Noveria mission with a laser focus. Of course, she starts tripping over her own questions right away, but it’s better than triggering another wave of quasi-hallucinations.  
           _Noveria is technically Terminus space._ But power in Terminus space is determined by force – like a post-Relay version of humanity’s own Wild West. Shepard can slip out of their laws as a Council Spectre on an official mission, but Garrus didn’t seem very optimistic. What else could they do? Shoot her? If they were petitioning to the Council for help then they had to be on at least somewhat good terms with the Citadel.  
          Garrus is sitting at the table on mess deck, reading something on his omni-tool. Shepard knocks on the side partition to announce her presence, then walks over and sits down across from him.  
          “Commander,” he greets her. “I hope you’re feeling better.”  
          “I’m fine.” _Does everyone on this damn ship know?_ “Ready to get this over with. Speaking of, Vakarian, I’m taking you on ground team for this one.”  
          “Understood, Commander.” He pauses. “Huh. It’s funny. Back when I’d be butting heads with Executor Pallin, the other officers always used to joke that the only place I’d hate more than C-Sec was Noveria. Never thought I’d be actually going there.”  
          “I… apologize in advance, then. You leave to get away from all that and I dump you back in administrative hell. Guess if they don’t cooperate I can always take Tali’s advice and blow the place up.”  
          He laughs. “No apologies necessary, Commander. Trying to get Noveria to hand over corporate records is the definition of hopeless. But explosions as a contingency plan? I told you this would be better than C-Sec.”  
          Shepard holds back the smile. Behind the jokes he’s bittersweet. “Was it always that bad?”  
          He hesitates, and for a second Shepard’s afraid she’s asked something too forward. But then he says, “No. It wasn’t… Back when I first started, it was fine. Like I wanted it to be. I kept thinking, if I got higher, I could do even better, do more. But as I got promoted, it’s like it all got narrower. Tighter. All those ambitions started looking pretty naïve at that point.”  
          “Ambitions?”  
          “I joined C-Sec because of my father. Aurelus Vakarian – one of the best officers they ever had. I grew up hearing stories about his arrests, watching his cases on the news reports. I always thought I was going to help people like he did. He’s… taking my resignation pretty hard.”  
          “You’re going after a rogue Spectre. That should count for something, right?”  
          “Not really. My father’s C-Sec to the bone – ‘Do things right or don’t do them at all’. When I talked with him, he told me I’m being too rash. He said that what I’m doing is exactly how people wind up like Saren.”  
          “Well, Saren’s a Spectre. They’re not bound by law in Council space, no accountability... I can see how a C-Sec officer would take offense to that.”  
          “He’s not a fan of Spectres,” Garrus agrees. “He even blocked my candidacy before I –”  
          “Whoa, wait. You were going to be a Spectre?” Shepard leans forward on the table. “And you’re just mentioning this in passing?”  
          “I was only one in about a thousand _potential_ candidates picked from the turian military, back when I served. Don’t be so impressed with me, Commander.” He crosses his arms. “And anyways, like I said. My father opposed, so I went the other direction and followed him in becoming an officer. He’s also not happy over the fact that I’m going with you. One Spectre’s as bad as another, as far as he’s concerned.”  
          “Well, I can see where he’s coming from,” Shepard says. Perhaps it’s a sign of how little she sees herself as a Council agent, but she takes no offense at the elder Vakarian’s disapproval. “After what happened on Eden Prime, it’s obvious Saren’s going to do whatever he wants. Revoking his Spectre privileges doesn’t mean much when there weren’t many rules on him in the first place.”  
          “But that’s my point,” Garrus says. “Saren isn’t playing by the rules, so why should we?”  
          “And pulling something like Eden Prime? I appreciate that being given Spectre status lets me face him on equal grounds if things get crazy, but that shouldn’t be the go-to plan for us.”  
          He stares back at her for a moment, and his mandibles give a single flick. Then he blinks. “I... see.”  
          Instantly she regrets voicing an opinion. “Vakarian, I’m not trying to take sides or anything here.”  
          “No, it’s fine. It’s just… what do we do when we get down there and they stonewall us at every turn? When we find out we’re wasting time?”  
          Shepard shrugs. “We look at each other, say, ‘Wow, what a waste of time,’ and figure out how to best apply the explosions. Drastic measures are fine, but only in drastic times. Otherwise I’m like Saren – a Spectre your father’s justified in condemning. I can at least give them a chance.”  
          “You… you do have a good point, Shepard. It’s easier talking to you about it than my father, at least.” He clears his throat. “So, the explosions aren’t off the table?”  
          “As long as I’m commander, Vakarian, the explosions are never off the table –”  
          “Commander?”  
          The quiet voice cuts cleanly through their conversation. Shepard looks up to see Liara standing near the partition, arms crossed against her body. “Doctor?”  
          She walks in, looking skittish. “I’d like a word. If it’s no trouble. About this mission. I’m sorry to interrupt…” She gives Garrus a quick glance.  
          “Go ahead,” Shepard says. “It’s fine.”  
          “I know when we… talked last I said that I would stay on the ship while we were docked on the Citadel. But I did not. I left to go make a purchase – I bought a combat hardsuit – ”  
          “You bought _battle armor?_ ” This is an unexpected turn.  
          “It was surprisingly simple. Due to the significant anatomical similarities between asari and humans, I was able to buy a hardsuit fitted for a human woman. I retrieved it and returned back to the Normandy with me, but I would like your authorization to have an unclaimed gear locker in the storage area of the ship.”  
           _She wants a formal permission just to claim a gear locker?_ Shepard resists the urge to look back at Vakarian. “Um. You’re open to have a locker, Doctor. Take whichever one you want.”  
          Liara nods, inhaling and glancing at the ground for a second.  
          “Doctor T’soni? Is there something else?”  
          “I have a favor to ask of you, and you are… perfectly justified as commander of this operation to refuse me. But I… would like to come along with you, on the mission to Noveria.”  
          Another unseen turn. Shepard’s momentarily caught off guard. “Ah, this seems a little out of the blue, Doctor…”  
          “Commander Shepard. I… did not perform well under pressure, back on Therum. My hesitation put your entire squad in danger.”  
          Now she can see where this is going. “Doctor T’soni, you’re a noncombatant. You’re not expected to dive right into to battle. If anything, I shouldn’t have asked you to take part in –”  
          “Commander.” There’s fire in the word now. “I am… the daughter of Matriarch Benezia, someone who, as far as we know, is…” her voice gets faint. “Is helping Saren Arterius. I am also an asari, and that makes me easily the most powerful biotic on this ship. I have had rudimentary training in firing basic pistols as a part of my general education on Thessia. I would like to help stop Saren, and if need be… my mother.”  
           _Asari general-ed includes firearms training? Huh._ Shepard looks her over, switching her perspective to inspect a new soldier. It’s not a great assessment. “Training and potential are all well and good, Doctor, but this is real-time combat. There’s no telling what happens once we hit groundside. Anyone I take down there can’t choke. Small-team squadmates have to depend on each other.”  
          “I understand, Commander. And I assure you, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I want to go. I want to find out what’s going on too.”  
          Shepard takes another moment to think it over. _Some people just aren’t good for combat._ She glances over the table to Vakarian. He looks back, face betraying nothing. _Dammit, give me something here._ She wonders if he would make more sense if she was a turian, too. Finally Shepard turns back to Liara. “Saren had men out for us at the Citadel. We were getting ambushed left and right. Even down here, you have to be ready. You’re willing to fight? To shoot?”  
          Liara stands straighter, uncrosses her arms. “I am, Commander.”  
           _I really hope this isn’t a mistake._ “Fine. You’re third on ground team. Already told Vakarian here he’s stuck going.”  
          “She _really twisted my arm_ ,” Garrus finally contributes to the exchange. “You got off easy.”  
          Liara looks to both of them awkwardly and laughs a little, but it’s high-pitched and nervous. “I – thank you – I’ll go check my equipment one more time.” She back-steps and hurries out of the room.  
           _She’s happy I said yes… and scared out of her mind._ “I think I just made a mistake.” Shepard shifts her body to lean back on the table. “It’s at least more orderly than Therum, right?”  
          “On the one hand, it’s a sector of Terminus space harboring information about an out-of-control Spectre,” Garrus offers. “On the other hand… Noveria pays a lot of credits to keeps things in order. With the doctor coming, are we still considering explosions?”  
          Shepard runs a hand through her hair. “Why do I feel like explosions are going to be the least of our problems?”

 

          Suit-checks are finished. Shepard straightens and gives the hardsuit as a whole a quick glance over. Now she just needs her heavy pistol and sniper rifle, and she’ll be geared up for this unknown mess of a mission.  
          “Commander. ETA is ten minutes,” Joker reports over her comm.  
          “Roger that. Heading to the bridge now.”  
          As she approaches, the elevator that connects the cargo bay and engineering to the upper levels of the ship makes a noise, and the doors open. Wrex appears, nodding to her.  
          “Shepard. Didn’t hear anything from you about ground team. It’s an icy planet, which isn’t a big preference. I’ll need at least one more credit for this job.”  
          “Sorry, Wrex. You’re not ground team for this one.” Shepard grins as she passes him. “Liara T’soni requested to come, prove her worth as a member of the team. And I need Officer Vakarian for legal advice.”  
          “She wants to make up for caving. Good.” He nods. “And the turian’s not bad in a fight. I can sit on the sidelines this time, let them down planetside to play.”  
          “It’s gonna be a lot of bureaucrats and corporate policy,” Shepard says. “You wouldn’t enjoy it too much, I think.” She takes both the guns from her locker, then compacts and stows them across her body. Now for the trek to the bridge.  
          “Maybe. But still.” Wrex sounds thoughtful. “Don’t let up on them down there. You’ve got Saren on the run.”  
          “That’s the plan, Wrex.” Shepard says, then stops short and looks over her shoulder. “Something up?”  
          “Nothing you don’t already know, Shepard. He’s rotten to the core. I knew it the second I met him.”  
          Shepard wheels back around to face the massive krogan. “You’ve _met_ Saren? And you didn’t say anything?!”  
          Wrex shrugs. “I didn’t even know it was the same guy until I checked the extranet. Wanted to see pictures of this Spectre everybody was gunning for. Also… you never asked.”  
          “ _Wrex._ I am asking now.”  
          “I was in the Terminus systems looking for work. Got a job from a big client. Had to take out a freighter, coming from some salarian dig site. That one famous one; the hanar were protesting it, you know they worship the Protheans like gods. Call them Enkindlers, I think… Anyways!” He slowly shakes his head. “While we’re onboard looting bodies, this turian comes on board. Some of the other guys call out to him, say he’s the client.”  
          Shepard’s heart races. “Why? What was he looking for?”  
          “Don’t know. The freighter was carrying garbage. A bunch of little shards of white Prothean things, statues, pieces of whatever unusable tech. You know, the same crap they always take from Prothean sites.”  
          “Do you think… he was looking for something about the Conduit?”  
          “Couldn’t tell you, kid. But I’ll say this; I didn’t wait around for the pay. He looks… strange, Shepard. Creepy. The moment after I saw him I got the hell out of there. And about a week later, what do I hear? Everyone else who stuck around went crazy, or disappeared.”  
          “Went crazy?” Shepard forces her breath steady, trying to slow her heartbeat.  
          “That’s what the rumor said. Started seeing things, hearing voices, said they were being watched. He’s nothing but bad luck, Shepard. In every sense of the word.”  
          Shepard’s not sure how to respond. In the back of her head, she reminds herself - _Hey, we’ve got to get to the bridge, let’s go,_ \- but she can’t move. Wrex’s story, his tone… It’s like hearing she has to face down fate itself.  
           _No. He’s got untold resources and a fifty-mile head start, but he’s just a turian, like you’re just a human. He can be stopped. You have to._  
          Wrex claps her on the shoulder, breaking her out of her thoughts. “And down there is something he wants, in a pyjak’s nest of companies doing illegal shit. Don’t forget that, Shepard.”

 

          “Noveria flight control, this is the SSV Normandy.” Joker says into the ship's comm, crisp and professional. “Requesting permission to land.” Out the helm windows the planet looms, a swirling sphere of ice.  
          “Permission denied.” The woman who answers back is curt, almost aggressive. “You have no scheduled business here, Normandy. If you are in need of fuel or repairs, we suggest heading to the planet of –”  
          “We’re here on Spectre business, as authorized by the Council.” Joker makes a face at the comm speaker, but his voice remains unfailingly polite.  
          There’s no answer – scrambling for a response, talking to superiors. Then: “You have permission to dock, Normandy. If Spectre ID cannot be validated upon landing, your craft will be impounded and your crew detained.”  
          “Roger that, Noveria. Normandy incoming.” Joker clicks off the comm and looks back at Shepard, who watches the exchange calmly. “What a _fun bunch_ , Commander! Have fun down there!”  
          The landing is smooth, practiced, even though the torrential whiteout. As the faint, flickering lights of the spaceport wink into view, Shepard sighs and leaves to helm to meet her team at the airlock doors.  
          The Normandy jostles gently as it settles against the floor of the docking bay. The doors finally open, allowing the squad access. They step through, and the ship-side doors close behind them. Liara shifts her weight from foot to foot as the pressure equalizes. Then the hullside doors open, allowing them access to the planet beyond.  
          The cold washes in, the literal polar opposite of the extreme heat on Therum. After only a few seconds their hardsuits begin issuing soft clicks, attempting to offset the cold against their bodies. _And we haven’t even left the airlock. Great._  
          The ceiling of the docking bay around the Normandy keeps the blizzard outside where it belongs, if not the chill. The concrete walkway leads from the ship up to a glass antechamber, and past the snowstorm outside, a towering building is just barely visible.  
          “Turians don’t like the cold. Did you know that, Commander?”  
          “Fascinating, Vakarian.” Shepard’s teeth start chattering with the motion of talking. “However, I am unmoved. Let’s go get this over with.”  
          “I agree,” Liara says as they hurry down the walkway. “I do not like this place, Shepard.”  
          “Let me guess: too cold?”  
          “Other than that. This place has too many secrets.”  
          “I won’t argue that, Doctor.” Shepard reaches the door to the antechamber, pulls it open. “And we’re here to drag some of those to the light.”  
          A woman is waiting for them, dressed in full hardsuit armor and pointing a gun. Behind her, two identically dressed guards stand at the ready. All three have the red Noveria Development logo across the breast of their uniforms.  
          Shepard halts, but doesn’t raise her hands. She keeps them low, right next to the pistol at her waist. “Is there a problem?”  
          “There better not be,” the woman barks.  
          “I’m Claire Shepard.” Her stripe and N7 insignia give her away to those who know their meaning, but still better not to call attention to it. It sounds like the Council is the only organization that holds any sway here. “I’m a Spectre from the Citadel Council.”  
          “That’s a nice convenient story.” The woman guard doesn’t budge. “Take their weapons.”  
           _Oh no no no._ As fast as she can manage, Shepard gets the pistol in her hands. The movement in her periphery vision assures her that Garrus is doing the same with his assault rifle. _Oh no Liara_ – Shepard won’t avert her eyes to look, but Liara seems to be in some kind of battle stance, the blue fire of biotics surrounding her body.  
           _Sorry, Doctor. Looks like things are getting complicated._  
          For a second both sides are silent and still, evenly matched and staring down the other. Then Vakarian says, slow and calm, “Council decree authorizes her entry. With her weapon.”  
          The head guard’s eyes narrow from behind the barrel. “And I’m _authorized_ to use deadly force.”  
          Without guns, there’s no point in going. If Saren has anything – _anything_ – planned for them here, they’ll be defenseless. And all that besides – “No one takes my gun,” Shepard says through clenched teeth.  
          “I’m going to shoot,” the woman says. “In three seconds…”  
          “Captain! Stand down!” A woman’s voice calls out over the PA, sounding tinny in the glass-walled room. “We have confirmed the identity of Claire Shepard. Her Spectre status allows her to carry weapons into the facility.”  
          Sullenly the guard lowers her gun, and the two behind her follow suit. She glares down the squad with open disdain. “You cause problems here, Spectre, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”  
          Shepard doesn’t even deign to answer. Striding past the woman to the door beyond, she takes her time holstering her gun. _Well. Great start._  
          The antechamber leads to a great, wide lobby. Marble tiles, small fountains, even plants here and there – the place bleeds opulence, enhanced by the fact they’re so far out in the middle of nowhere, both as a spaceport and a planet. One side of the building is made entirely of windows, showing the encompassing view of the raging snowstorm. Despite the scenery outside, the lobby is warm – after the glacial conditions outside, the adjusted hardsuits become uncomfortable.  
          A service desk at the entrance sits unattended, so Shepard passes through without waiting. An alarm begins screaming just as she crosses the threshold. Shepard halts, looking around. _Oh, what the hell now?_  
          “It’s fine! It’s okay!” A dark-skinned human woman rushes over, waving vehemently. “Miss… Shepard? Council Spectre?”  
          Her voice is the same that ordered the guards to stand down over PA. Shepard clears her throat. “Yes?”  
          The woman halts, wobbling a little on her heels, and the alarm quiets as she nears. She nods, utterly unfazed by the presence of the additional aliens. “Giana Parasini. I’m secretary and assistant to Administrator Anoleis, the director appointed by the executive board to oversee planetary affairs. The alarm was only reacting to your weapons, which we have already authorized you to carry! I apologize for the… incident that occurred.”  
          “Are your guards always this forceful?” Shepard’s sure now – they won’t hesitate to shoot her. _What the hell would they tell the Council?_  
          “Our security is here to protect the interests of our client corporations.” Parasini gives a flawless, blameless smile. “And speaking of security interests – may I ask the nature of your assignment here?”  
          Now begins the mind game. It feels like playing chess blindfolded. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to speak of what the Council has ordered me to do. I’ll have to speak with Administer Anoleis.” _Stalling for time – not a good strategy, Shepard._ Vakarian was right. The second she makes the request they’ll be kicked out by gunpoint. And then… explosions?  
          “I’m afraid the Administrator is a bit busy at the moment. Several days ago we received reports of an emergency at Peak 15, one of the remote labs. A complete shutdown.”  
          “Can you elaborate on _that_ , ma’am?”  
          “Our clients have labs out in the mountains, only connected here by tram. These locations are used for the more… volatile research that may be needed. The recent... dramatic events at Peak 15 have caused several agents to come and go.” She turns her head slightly, studying Shepard. “Are you sure you’re not here because the Council is concerned?”  
          There’s some kind of unspoken game here. Might as well take the bait. “This development is new to me, I’m afraid.” Shepard says, giving her best neutral-Alliance-Commander tone. “Who are these agents?”  
          “Executors of key shareholders, monitoring the situation, reviewing the protocols on their own labs. Most of them have already left. Only one remains here on extended business.” She pauses deliberately. “The executor for Saren Arterius. An asari Matriarch, Benezia.”  
           _Don’t give anything away._ Shepard freezes where she stands, but Liara flinches back and gives a little gasp. _She wants to come on this mission and we’re running into Benezia? Coincidence or cover story?_  
          Parasini’s eyes flick once to Liara before settling back on Shepard. “An unusual guest, I agree. Does this pertain to your mission now?”  
          “Can you tell me… where Matriarch Benezia went?” They’re not too late – they can’t be too late. _Tell me tell me tell me tell me…_  
          “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I’m afraid she only spoke with the Administrator before she left on the tram. I’m not sure if she is here due to the emergency in this particular lab, or another matter entirely. I’m sorry I can’t be more help to you, Shepard.” Parasini offers her hand.  
          It’s the perfect corporate _go to hell._ Shepard’s already desperately trying to formulate a plan. She can still be civil – for now. _Only for now._  
          “You’ve been a great help, Miss Parasini.” She hides the spark of shock as she shakes the woman’s hand. A folded slip of paper is pressed hard against her gloved palm, and she curls her fingers around it as she withdrawals her hand.  
          Parasini smiles. “Enjoy your stay on Noveria, Alliance Commander Shepard.” She walks away without looking back.  
          Shepard looks down at her hand. The paper stares back up at her. Garrus moves closer to see it, but Liara remains where she is, staring off into space.  
          She unfolds it. _Meet me in the lobby café. We have some things to discuss._

  


          The side café in the lobby is teeming with people – human, salarian, turian, and even a few volus here and there. Shepard and her squad are getting open, wide-eyed looks from the employees. Strangers with guns – not an everyday occurrence.  
          Shepard is more concerned with Liara. The asari has been distant, almost unresponsive, since talking with Parasini. She sits on the stone edge of a fountain, hands clasped and head bowed. The warning about changing mission parameters seems almost prophetic. Now, watching her reaction, Shepard’s more and more convinced she’s not a traitor. She’s emotional, terrible at concealing her reactions, unaccustomed to the outside galaxy at large. Not the sort of person conspiring with a man who razed an entire colony and killed a friend in cold blood. She’s only a daughter learning some ugly truths.  
          In some ways it makes her more dangerous.  
          “Doctor.” Shepard finally speaks up and Liara’s eyes slowly raise to meet hers. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know… you need more time to process this. I wish I could give it to you, but time may be something we don’t have.”  
          “Commander, I… I understand.” Her voice quavers.  
          “No, Liara. If you need to go back to the Normandy, then do it. I’m not going to force you to keep going. And I’m not guaranteeing anything. If you want to stay, you need to be sure.”  
          “There’s no question I’m going,” Liara says, standing. At her sides, her fists clench so hard her arms shake. “My mother’s here, Commander. I need to find out why. Maybe I can talk to her, convince her otherwise…”  
          It’s another hopeful fantasy of a distraught daughter. A delusion. _That’s fine on the Normandy, not in the middle of this mission._ “Liara, no. So, you talk to you mother, convince her to just switch sides? Or hell – find out this was all some misunderstanding,? Doctor, that’s very –”  
          “It’s just a best case scenario, Commander.”  
          “Best-case is gone when your boots hit the ground,” Shepard says firmly. She’s always thought that old Alliance saying sounded trite – why’s it the first thing she thought of? _Stupid saying._ “Don’t plan for that, don’t let that be what keeps you here. Hope for it if you want, but plan for the thousand other ways this could go wrong.”  
          The tears are barely checked in Liara’s eyes. Her jaw trembles just a little, and in a fragile voice she says, “Then I’m staying, Commander Shepard. This will probably be the last time I will see my mother.”  
           _And then they will never see each other again._  
          Shepard’s heart breaks. It’s harsh – cruel, even, and she hates that she’s the one who has to force it. But down here there can be no misconceptions, no one still on the fence. Shepard’s sure – Liara’s not a spy, not a traitor. And if that decision’s made, she’s not going to go back on it now. “Then you’re committed. Nothing left to do but get it done, Doctor.”  
          “Is there a problem?” Parasini approaches, looking the three of them up and down. She’s holding herself differently here. Her movement seems easier, less artificial. A mask has been lowered.  
          “No. Let’s discuss.” Shepard can drop the niceties too.  
          “Glad to, Commander,” Parasini says, smiling. It’s no longer a saleswoman’s plastic smile. “I was hoping we could help each other.”  
          Not a good sign. “Unless you’re offering me some kind of information involving Saren Arterius, I’m not interested.”  
          Parasini raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “That would be an egregious breach of corporate policy. I’ll have to refuse that offer.”  
          “Then what won’t you refuse?” Shepard says icily. “I think I’m running out of time until your guards decide I’ve overstayed my welcome.”  
          “I’m going to get you an audience with Administrator Anoleis. And until I give the signal, I want you to… talk.” Parasini spreads her hands out before her. “About your mission here. Tell him everything. Demand his cooperation. Wield the Council like a club.”  
          Shepard stares her down, quelling the alarm. “Putting all my cards on the table? Blowing my mission sky high, get myself thrown off the planet? I can see how this helps you, Parasini. Not so sure about my end. Maybe you could explain that one again.”  
          “Put all cards on the table, huh?” Parasini regards Shepard, on the crux of a decision. “Then let’s blow my mission sky high first, Spectre. I’m an agent of the Executive Board of Noveria Development. Anoleis is suspected of embezzling money. I’ve been sent to expose him.”  
          She presses a manicured nail against her chin. “I need you to go in there and cause a… diplomatic commotion. I need a distraction to get enough time to go hacking through his files to find what I need. The arrival of a Spectre should upset him. Enough to keep him busy enough to ignore notifications about unauthorized access, from his innocently incompetent secretary.”  
          “Keep talking.”  
          “If I were to _happen_ across some interesting information – such as where it is Matriarch Benezia went – I might be very sloppy with that information. I might leave it somewhere an enterprising Spectre could find it.”  
          “You just said you weren’t going to give me information.”  
          “Give you the raw files straight from out databases? Corporate research data, classified findings of our clients? Absolutely not. I’m in this position because I’m loyal to the Board.” Parasini shrugs. “But finding out what remote lab Benezia went to? That’s not a trade secret.”  
          “It’s still giving me a destination. You’re still setting me loose on a lab.” For a split second Shepard glances to the ceiling, willing herself patient. “What makes this different?”  
          “You’re not the first Spectre to come here, Claire Shepard,” Parasini says. Her voice is dark now, forceful. “They come blazing in, causing chaos, and after the smoke clears, there’s no telling what they uncover. If I give you this, you go to _one_ lab, finish your business, and get the hell of this planet. Damage control is still damage. Think of this as my peace offering, and don’t blow the place up.”  
          “If you can get me that, then I’ll accept it,” Shepard says. _She’s afraid of me._ “If.”  
          “Very well, Miss Shepard,” Parasini says, suddenly all prim smiles and professional courtesy. “I’ll schedule your appointment with the Administrator right away.” 

  


          If the outside lobby bleeds opulence, the Administrator’s office is drowning in it. The carpet is blood red, plush even beneath their boots. Like the lobby, one of the walls is a giant window showcasing the dismal scenery. The opposite wall is a shallow waterfall, cascading gently over the vertical rock wall. The office is kept a few degrees cooler than the main lobby, and after Shepard sees who is sitting behind the giant dark-wood desk, she knows why.  
           _They always run a little hot._ The grey-skinned salarian is sitting rigidly straight as he watches them enter the massive threshold of his office. The suit is tailored to his thin body, and a one of his long fingers has a single gold ring. _Not very flashy for the planetary head. _He openly looks them up and down, each in turn, finishing with Shepard herself.__  
          “I’ll have to ask you to keep it quick, Spectre,” he says before they’ve even crossed the center. ”I don’t have time to humor the requests of colony trash.”  
          “You did your homework on me.”  
          His large eyes narrow. “I always go into a fight prepared, Shepard. The second your ship radioed in, I was pulling up every personnel file you have.”  
          “Well, I’m not sure what good it will do you. You knew up front I’m a Spectre, and you know that means I’m here for a reason. A reason very important to the Citadel Council.”  
          A beep issues from him – his omni-tool. Shepard’s heart jumps in her throat.  
          Anoleis’s hand gives an irritated twitch like he’s swatting a fly. “People come here to _escape_ Citadel law. We maintain good relations with them for the benefit of both parties, but we do not subject ourselves to them.”  
          “That’s a shame,” Shepard says, trying to sound bored. _Parasini said there’s been trouble before. Spectres intimidate them, if only a little bit._ “I wouldn’t be here if the Council wasn’t deeply concerned. I would hope that would mean something to you. I’ve been given a mission, Administrator. I’m fulfilling it one way…” She pauses, shrugs, “or another.”  
          “Please let us drop the posturing, then,” Anoleis snaps. “What are you here for, Shepard? What will make you leave this planet _as fast as possible?_ ”  
          “I want information on Saren Arterius. His involvement here, where his money was going. Why a ship of his passed through earlier.”  
          “Where did you learn all this, Shepard?” Anoleis says quietly.  
          “I’m a Spectre. I got it from the Council. Is that a yes?”  
          “You’re insane.” Anoleis’ omni-tool beeps again, but he doesn’t react. “You want information on Arterius? He is a shareholder of Binary Helix, a major investor! And you are some ill-bred colony trash, here because I allow it, _demanding_ proprietary information of our client’s business? Absolutely not!”  
           _And thus, we find our impasse._ “Administrator, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough –”  
          “Sir! Please, then, at least give me information about my mother.” Liara steps forward, crossing her arms over her stomach. “I don’t know if you looked up backgrounds of the rest of the crew – or – well – I’m Liara T’soni. I’m here looking for my mother, Matriarch Benezia. She’s… gone missing. I’m very worried.”  
          Her voice quavers a little, but then again, it’s not all an act. Shepard’s not sure this is going to get them anywhere, but it’s not like it can hurt at this point.  
          Anoleis impassively watches her. “Matriarch Benezia is named as Saren’s executor. She arrived her to conduct some affairs on his behalf. As for anything more, I am paid not to know. The remote labs are the business of our clients.”  
          “Please, if you could just tell me where – ”  
          “Miss T’soni!” Anoleis snaps. “Benezia appeared to be operating under her own free will. Furthermore, as an asari Matriarch, I highly doubt there are many people who could coerce her to do _anything_ against her wishes. I will not assume sides in what appears to be a family matter.”  
          He waits for a reply, but Liara only stares back at him miserably. Turning in his giant chair, Anoleis rounds on Garrus. “Well, do you have any frivolities to discuss, bird?”  
          Shepard flinches at the slur – _one that originated from humanity, no less._ But Garrus shrugs. “Just waiting for the contingency plan.”  
          Anoleis presses his thin lips together. _He knows it means something but he doesn’t know what._ “I think we’re done here, Spectre. I’ve received several urgent messages while you wasted my time. I’ll ask you politely to leave now.”  
          There’s been no signal from Parasini – Shepard realizes that she has no idea what the signal is. “We’re not done here.” She raises her voice just as Anoleis’ omni-tool chirps again. “I’m here for something, and I’m not leaving until I get it –”  
          “Don’t try to threaten me, human. Were you even paying attention to that spectacle you had with the guards downstairs? They’re authorized to use deadly force – because I authorized them!” He points at her accusingly. “You think if we send back your body, the Council will even care? Only a few million credits as reparation to them, what with no beggar family of yours to pay off –”  
          Parasini strides in, all smiles and swagger. She winks at Shepard as she passes them. “This is your signal, Shepard. Good job.”  
          “Miss Parasini! I did not call for you!” Anoleis stands, leaning with both arms on the desk. “Why have you not attended to these urgent messages I keep getting?!”  
          “Administrator Anoleis. You’re under arrest, with the authority of the Noveria Executive Board and Noveria Internal Affairs.” Parasini grabs his wrist and wrenches him down against the desk. “For the crime of embezzlement and misappropriation of client funds.”  
          “What! You can’t do this to me! The Board put me here!”  
          “You will face the Executive Board in the regulation thirty days, standard Noverian time. At this hearing, you will – ”  
          “Spectre!” Even being shoved against the desk, Anoleis turns to Shepard in a fury. “If you’re really a dog of the Council, you’ll put a stop to this!”  
          Shepard stares down Parasini. _We had a deal._  
          “God, finally.” Parasini notices the scrutiny and casually drops the regulation speech, flashing Shepard a grin. “Eight undercover months of dead ends and stonewalls. I can finally get out of the dress and heel getup.” She nods to someone across the room, and suddenly Noverian guards come streaming in the office.  
          For a split second Shepard’s sure she’s been had – now that Parasini has what she wants, what’s to stop her from doing exactly what Anoleis would have done? But they all surround the salarian, wrenching him up to his feet and practically dragging them out of the room. Shepard remains rooted to the spot in the chaos, and her squad follows her example – Vakarian calm and steady, Liara fidgeting and nervous at the commotion.  
          Parasini watches Shepard as the commotion leaves the room. “Wow. For a distraction, that was very diplomatic. I thought for certain you would’ve shot up the place. Are you sure you’re a Spectre?”  
          Shepard crosses her arms. “You were the one calling this ‘damage control’. The damage will be later. At this location you’re about to give me.”  
          A faint smile crosses Parasini’s lips. “Well, you made it worth my while. I owe you a beer, Shepard. And there’s not much more damage you could do once you get there.” She holds something up for them to see: A thin memory stick and a card. “Your information, and a keycard to get you on the tram – for that lab and only that lab.” She places the items on the expensive desk, and crosses the room. “Good luck, Commander. The most accommodating Spectre I’ve ever met.”  
          “Good luck to you, Parasini. You’re alright, for a corporate henchman.”  
          Parasini laughs mirthfully and closes the door behind her.  
          Before Shepard can even react, Liara crosses the remaining distance to the desk and grabs the objects. Returning to them, she gingerly gives them to Shepard. “Commander, was that… the contingency plan?”  
          “It was not, Doctor,” Shepard says, loading the information from the memory stick to her omni-tool. From beside her, Garrus chuckles.  
          The file loads very quickly – there’s only one small fragment of data for her. Not an omni-tool backdoor virus, or a bit of nonsense.  
          It’s a line from a security log: _Matriarch Benezia. Authorization under: Saren Arterius. Destination: Peak 15. Return time: N/A._


	8. Contingency Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -A LOT of video game fetch-quest stuff was cut and/or streamlined. Including the tower puzzle.... especially the tower puzzle.  
> -I made the elcor merchant, Petozi, a doctor. It seemed to nonsensical otherwise. Congratulations on your promotion Petozi!  
> -I had to smooth out some plot points concerning the Queen and the Rachni War; the connection between rachni and indoctrination seems to be a bit inconsistent between games.   
> \- Ardat-Yakshi foreshadowing, heck yes.

          The tracks are covered in panels of domed glass. _Just like back at the central hub._ Windows everywhere. At present it seems wildly optimistic; there’s been nothing but blustery white since they arrived. _Is there some amazing scenery I’m not seeing? Is this cataclysmic blizzard more uncommon than it seems? Is it an ironic kind of thing?_ The tramcar is dead silent with only the three of them on the entire thing. The track leads only to the ill-fated Peak 15 – everyone else has left it for lost.  
          Liara sniffs and shifts in her seat. It brings Shepard back to reality. They’ve tracked down Benezia, for better or worse. Better and worse. Yet again, Shepard goes through the cycle of feeling sympathy for the young asari, only to harden her heart to the grim truth of the mission.  
          “I thought for sure you’d send me back,” Liara says, breaking the howling silence. “I thought for sure you’d be angry with me.”  
          Shepard leans forward, puts her elbows on her knees. “Why?”  
          “The sheltered researcher begs to join the next mission? And suddenly you’re hunting down Benezia on the very same assignment?” Liara smiles weakly. “More than a little suspicious.”  
          “I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” Shepard says. “But I don’t think you’re working with them. Saren sent geth to get you, when he could’ve sent your mother. And a krogan, who didn’t seem terribly concerned with taking you willingly – or even alive.” Shepard shrugs. “And anyways. You’ve said you’re here to help me.”  
          “I am. I will not fail you, Commander.”  
          “Well, I’m glad for the help. I have no idea what to expect in this lab; we don’t even know what kind of ‘accident’ this place supposedly had. Parasini failed to include what they’re even studying here.”  
          “Binary Helix,” Garrus says.  
          “Pardon?” Shepard looks to him.  
          “Binary Helix. That’s what Anoleis said; that Saren was a shareholder for Binary Helix. They’re a company that does research into genetic engineering, biochemistry, a little here and there in neural implants for biotics.”  
          “Anything else?”  
          Garrus shakes his head. “That’s the public blurb, Commander, and anything else is declared proprietary. It’s just stuff you can guess from the company name.”  
          “A company centered on research in biology. It doesn’t seem to line up with what Saren’s been involved with so far.” Liara sighs and clasps her hands.  
          “Geth, Prothean artifacts. Biological research,” Shepard rubs her eyes. “The mercenaries who went crazy…”  
          “What?” Garrus’ mandibles flick in alarm.  
          Shepard looks up at him. “Wrex told me about it just before we landed. He went on a mercenary job, and the client turned out to be Saren. He got spooked, left the job early on a hunch, and heard the ones who stayed behind to get pay went crazy.”  
          “Went crazy.” Garrus shakes his head. “Is it just me, or are the stories around Saren just getting more and more unbelievable?”  
          “It certainly just raises more questions.” Liara’s shifts in her seat, disquieted. “I can offer no advice in how it relates to the Protheans.”  
          “It doesn’t look good. It’s actually getting worse every time we turn around, if even half of it is true.” Shepard sighs. Out the window, the snowstorm obscures everything save for the occasional vague silhouette. Peak 15. “But it’s on Saren’s trail. That’s all that matters.”

          The tram slows to a gentle stop, spiking up a thrill of adrenaline through Shepard’s stomach. The windows of their car show a general waiting area – gray floors, rows of chairs fastened to the ground, sterile white walls. A single hallway leads to the facility beyond. Nothing looks out of place.  
          Drawing her pistol, Shepard strides off the train, surveying the environment down the barrel of the gun. Behind her, Garrus follows with his practiced ease. Liara remains behind them, holding her pistol in one hand and flexing her other. A flash of blue biotic power courses over her fingers.  
          A two-tone chime sounds over the PA. _“Welcome to Peak 15. Visitors, please remain with Binary Helix appointed chaperones at all times. Be advised: heavy damage is detected throughout the facility. Biohazard contaminants are present at every level. Please plan accordingly.”_  
          “Uh oh,” Garrus says under his breath.  
          Shepard leads them past the front desk. The next hallway is wide, domed with more glass, and across the linoleum are three tall turrets. They face the opposite end. Small crates of thermal clips sit orderly around them, unfired.  
          Liara approaches one, gingerly touching it with her free hand. “They’re facing the wrong way.”  
          “It’s not for keeping out intruders. They were trying to keep something in.” Garrus barely gives the weapons a passing glance, instead watching the door at the opposite end.  
          “And they never even fired.” Shepard tightens and relaxes her grip on the heavy pistol. “They set it all up, stayed in position for however long… then abandoned post.”  
          “So, whatever they were waiting for is still in there,” Garrus says.  
          Shepard doesn’t answer as she moves to open the door, which doesn’t budge. She braces herself and shoulders it open in a squeal of scraping metal. A blast of cold hits her like a physical blow. Without hesitating Garrus sweeps into the next room, scanning it over past his assault rifle. Liara follows behind, with enthusiasm if not the trained precision. The door slams back as Shepard lets her weight off it, and the force of it reverberates in the walls.  
          Both the left wall and ceiling of the room is blasted away, letting in the maelstrom outside. It’s partially obscured by the wreckage itself, but a healthy of layer of snow covers most of the floor. Three human bodies lay near the debris. The cubicle-dividers and desks strewn about the room are a stark difference to the orderly entrance. Despite the presence of the turrets in the hallway, they’ve finally found the actual battle.  
          “What – what happened here?” Liara follows the two soldiers as they creep across the room.  
          “A battle. Probably the guards who were manning the turrets.” Garrus answers without looking at her. “They blew up half the room, looks like.”  
          “Keep an eye out,” Shepard says, giving the room around her quick little glances. “Whoever is left has to know we’re here.” The doors on the ground level are crudely barricaded. A set of stairs off to their right leads up to some enclosed offices on the second floor. Another door on the upper level appears to have been previously blocked, but the furniture wedged against the frame has been dragged away in a rough path from the door. _Something got in?_  
          A creaking noise comes from above them, and three gun barrels swerve to the ceiling.  
          “This place is in bad shape,” Garrus finally says as they resume their tense path to the stairs. “I don’t – “  
          An airy screech comes from the top balcony, and movement darts along the balcony just close enough to the edge to be seen. It’s fast and low, no higher than a human’s knee, streaking along the edge of the balcony and down the stairs. The movement triggers pure reaction, and Shepard fires towards the streak of shadow. More shapes fly past the balcony, close behind the first. They’re dark red and shining, leggy and pointed. Something flies from one in a high arc, landing just past the squad.  
          Even amidst the spray of bullets the creatures dart and dodge and actually manage to evade the shots. It’s enough for one to reach the bottom of the steps, another racing across the ground floor, before taking a hit. Shepard and her team have to retreat in hasty backstep to keep distance from the closest shape as it advances relentlessly.  
          The bullets splinter holes in the creatures. Shepard doesn’t lower the gun for a few solid moments, watching the bodies for any remaining sign of life as she creeps up to the nearest one. A thin green liquid trickles from its body.  
          “I’ve… never seen anything like these. What the hell are they?” Garrus is panting hard, and keeps his gun trained squarely on the creature. “Insects?” He follows Shepard nearer as they study it. It’s vaguely tear-shaped, something between roach and a beetle. The exoskeleton is dark crimson and glossy. A tiny pointed head ends with a ring of fanged chelicerae and long trailing antenna.  
          “Some kind of new life form?” Shepard’s still a good few paces away, but she doesn’t want to get any closer. They all look dead, but it’s too easy to imagine them suddenly springing to life. At this distance, her face feels like it’s at the perfect leaping height.  
          “I’m not sure,” Liara says from behind them. “My expertise is not xenobiology, I’m afraid. Perhaps they are specimens from the lab.” She takes a breath, then says, “Commander…”  
          It’s an effort to take her eyes off the dead creature and look over her shoulder, towards Liara’s voice. A dark patch on one of the overturned desks is hissing, smoking – one of the creatures threw something at them, Shepard remembers. It had –  
          “It spit this as us,” Liara says.  
          “It’s dissolving. They spit acid?” Garrus looks back to the dead specimens. “These things seem… gratuitous, Commander.”  
          Acid spit from fangs like long needles. “I agree, Vakarian. Let’s go see what we can find.”  
          There’s no argument. Shepard leads past the bodies, watching them warily from the corner of her eye.  
          Past the last dead insects, the makeshift barricade lies strewn about. Some of the furniture, the wood on the desks, looks shredded. Chewed. “They did this,” Shepard says. “They got in somehow, opened the door.”  
          “Do you think… that they are the emergency everyone was talking about?” Liara asks quietly.  
          “No,” Shepard replies. “Not for a full lockdown and corporate review from Parasini’s people. If any of those things had gotten us, we’d be dead, no doubt. But they still die when you shoot them.” Her unspoken conclusion hangs over their heads – so there’s still something worse somewhere in here.  
          A tense silence falls as they move to the next room. The next few offices are similar – furniture wrecked and tossed about. There’s no sign of any employee since the three bodies, and no sign of any more life, insect or otherwise.  
          A security checkpoint sits unmanned, looking over a sealed airlock. A cracked red light above the door flickers off and on intermittently. Shepard eyes the airlock. The doors are heavy, with wide metal beams reinforcing the doorframe. Another chime sounds over the PA as they approach, and then a scratchy broadcast announces, _“Warning. Contaminants detected in connection airlock. Security personnel, please initiate purge before proceeding. Repeat; contamination from lower labs detected. Please exercise proper caution.”_  
          Garrus moves to the door of the security room, adorned with several signs promising deadly force for defiance. There’s a damaged security card reader next to the entrance, but the door itself is already slightly ajar. The room inside is mostly dark, save for the light coming from the one-way surveillance mirror observing the chamber of the airlock.  
          “Oh _damn,_ ” Shepard says.  
          The airlock is crawling with red insects. Some are no bigger than her hand, but more than half are the same size as those they’ve already killed – that is, too big entirely. All in all, there’s probably closer to twenty, all crammed in the small room. The doors on either side look well-reinforced, just as Shepard could observe from the outside, but now they don’t seem strong enough by half.  
          There’s no way they’re getting past that room – that many, in these tight quarters; hell, that many _anywhere_ – they’d be torn apart in a heartbeat.  
          “Commander,” Garrus says, heading to the far side of the room. In the corner, the shredded uniform contains most of what’s left of a thin torso. For better or worse, there’s no sign of the head. Amid the generous pool of greenish blood there are scattered objects – a handgun, a datapad, a security card.  
          “Commander. He was…” Liara remains in the doorway with teary eyes, hands pressed over her mouth.  
          “Salarian,” Shepard responds flatly. “Security guard. Those things we shot must have gotten through before the airlock closed,” she nods to the surveillance window, “And then… did this.” The gory scene breaks cracks in her cool professionalism. _There’s no guarantee there’s not a swarm of these things waiting further down. Is it wise, knowing that there may be more and still choosing to go on? Not even knowing if there’s survivors to find, let alone our missing Matriarch?_  
          Garrus takes the security card from the corpse’s hand and tosses it to Shepard, who nods in thanks back to him and uses it to activate the master console. There’s no alarms or security footage, but the commands to initiate the airlock purge are easy enough to find. The console buzzes to life as it accepts the program.  
          Tiny jets emerge from the four corners of the airlock and above either door, causing the insects to startle and lunge toward the protrusions with bared fangs. Then the plasma torches activate, sending jets out into every corner of the room. The screeches peal forth and die out as the creatures incinerate. The jets retract, and then three sprinklers descend and douse the whole airlock with water.  
          “Well, it solves our immediate problem,” Shepard says, looking at the mess of an airlock through the glass. “Vakarian?”  
          “Almost got it.” He’s holding the salarian’s datapad, typing commands to it through his omni-tool. At first there’s only static, the sound of breathing. Then the recording plays.  
          “Well. I just met the big rescue.” There’s a ragged breath. “Some high and mighty asari Matriarch, who tells me to stay put until further orders. No need to worry, she says. But it’s full lockdown! She’s not here to help us - we know. No help’s coming. They can’t risk this getting out. I can’t… I can’t let those things get me. They’re coming – “ the message ends in an abrupt click.  
          “By the Goddess…” Liara says, voice wavering.  
          “I take it back, Doctor.” Shepard crosses her arms, bows her head a little. “This may very well be the crisis after all.”  
          “Shepard, my mother…” Liara says, taking a few staggered steps back. “My mother is truly here.”  
          The previous doubt evaporates completely. “Then we need to hurry,” Shepard says. There’s no time for consoling words here – she’s already entering the override commands to open the airlock. Even in the security room they can hear the hiss of pneumatic pressure as the doors slide open.  
          Without waiting for acknowledgement, Shepard strides quickly out and around, into the chamber. It’s still uncomfortably steamy from the purgation, and the heat carries a strange burnt bitter smell. _It doesn’t matter what lies beyond here. We’re going – we have to go._  
          On the other side of the airlock, a circular room contains an elevator and a set of stairs. The panel beside the elevator doors only has a down button and a security keypad, but it’s irrelevant – the whole thing is bombed-out, twisted wreckage. The stairs appear largely unharmed, all things considered. Dead insects are piled in stiff heaps at the base of the steps, in various states of destruction. Keeping her gun at the ready, Shepard holds her fist at shoulder-level – Alliance signal for _wait, hold._ She listens at the base of the stairwell for a few moments, but there’s no noise –  
          Lowering her raised fist, Shepard slowly climbs each stair. When she reaches the top, she finds her squad staring down the barrels of a handful of guns hidden behind makeshift barricades.  
          “Survivors?!” Liara says, and her voice sounds unnaturally loud.  
          “Holy shit! Guns down!” A male voice commands from somewhere behind the heavy desks and lab benches, and a human man in a heavy hardsuit emerges. “Are you the help – no, you’re not.” He eyes the red slash on Shepard’s arm. “Alliance. N7. Not bad. Not what we needed. But not bad.” Looking resigned, he offers Shepard his hand. “Commander.”  
          Shepard respectfully takes it. “You were expecting someone else?”  
          “’In the event of an incident, wait for emergency teams’. Standard procedure. Captain Ventralis, Elanus Risk Control. Stationed with my men to BH’s lab for security. Unfortunately. How’d they let you in here, anyways?”  
          “I’m a Spectre. Council business.”  
          “Shepard, huh?” Ventralis barely bats an eye. “Thought I recognized the scar through the eyebrow. Yeah, I saw the report on the news vids. First human Spectre, some lady from the outer colonies named Shepard. You got unlucky with this first job.”  
           _You don’t know the half of it._ “Tell me what’s going on here, Captain.” Shepard eyes the environment. It’s a hallway, fortified down into a choke point. Armed security guards stay slumped in their positions, glancing up in half-interest as Ventralis leads the three of them past the blockade. Small rough pits are eaten away in the floor here and there.  
          “They’ve got an entire level of labs below this one, dug into the mountain. For the dangerous stuff,” Ventralis says, running a hand over his bald head. “There was a containment breach down there. Put the whole facility in total lockdown. We regrouped here with what’s left of the scientists, blew out the elevator to the lower labs. Now we’re stuck here, till we get word from the big shots that the situation’s contained.”  
          “But they’ve sent someone, right?” Shepard asks. “An asari Matriarch named – “  
          A chorus of shrill screams echoes from the lower room, and every guard in the room staggers up, shouldering their assault rifles. Shouts and orders call out back and forth.  
          “Shit, Shepard, I hope you’ve still got some fight in you,” Ventralis says, ducking behind a barricade. “Time for the next installment.”  
          Taking cover behind an overturned lab bench, Shepard prepares the heavy pistol alongside her squad. It sounds like a lot are on the way, and the sniper rifle is too slow-loading to be of use here. Beside her, Garrus is already balancing his assault rifle on the edge of the bench.  
          There’s a cascade of clicks as countless legs skitter their way up the stairs. “Well, you were right, Liara. These are definitely our emergency.”  
          “I am not reassured, Commander,” Liara says, stiffly holding her own pistol. Gasping, she ducks down as the first wave of crimson-colored insects come crawling past the doorframe.  
          A deafening cacophony of fire explodes all at once upon the creatures. It’s a battle to make every shot count – the bugs are streaming out in every direction, crawling on the walls, the ceiling. As before, they are killed easily with one or two shots, but for every one felled, another is there to take its place, crawling undeterred over the dead bodies of its fellows. A few manage to close a considerable distance before taking a hit. Every so often one of them launches a quick volley of acid across the room, vividly demonstrating the need for cover during the attack.  
          Shepard crushes the undeniable alarm and keeps up the cycle of reloading and firing. It’s more specimens than the three of them have encountered so far – if not for the considerable backup and strategic position, the possibility of being overrun is very distinct. But the guards are obviously well-trained, and the battle has sporadic moments of lull when Liara grabs entire groups of the insects with biotic power and floats them for easy shots.  
          Finally the attack stops, and the sudden end leaves Shepard’s ears ringing. Several of the guards sigh as they sink back down, clearly fatigued. _They’ve been manning this since the start of the emergency._ Shepard stands and holsters the pistol.  
          “Alright, everyone. No time to rest. You know the drill.” Ventralis watches sternly as several guards stand and in pairs pick up the creatures by the legs and toss them down the stairs. The bodies by the airlock. _It’s all the battles they’ve already had._ A few of the corpses dribble clear liquid from their fangs, and it smokes as it hits the ground. Suddenly the pockmarks on the floor become terribly ominous.  
          Ventralis notices Shepard’s interest. “We decided to move them after each battle. Don’t want to give the rest any chance at cover if we can help it. Also, in all honesty, they’re as creepy as hell to keep around, even when they’re dead.”  
          “You said you blew out the elevator.”  
          “Thought it would stop them.” Ventralis presses his lips together. “It didn’t. They still crawl their way up every now in then. Always in waves. I keep hoping they’ll wise up eventually; even an animal should learn not to stick its nose where it hurts.”  
          Given what she’s seen, it seems naïve. The creatures seem to operate solely on reaction.  
          “So. You were asking about an asari Matriarch,” Ventralis says. “She came by here. Had the proper authorization. Didn’t seem to care that these things basically have their way of the place.”  
          “She didn’t give you authorization to escape?” Liara asks. She remains on the floor, leaning against the cover of the barricade.  
          “Nope.” Ventralis purses his lips again. “There’s a kind of data or finding in the lab that some higher-up needs. She’s here to get it. Gave me some neutral-sounding bullshit when I asked if we had clearance to leave. Said she was going to fix everything, but I haven’t seen her since. I guess we’re supposed to be the shields against this while she does whatever in the top labs.”  
          “So she’s still up here?” She staggers to her feet. “She didn’t go down to the lower labs?”  
          Ventralis gives Liara a look. “If these attacks are any clue, there’s nothing in the lower labs but those things. Not even an asari Matriarch could survive down there. Hell, I don’t know if we can survive up here.” He waves to the hallway beyond them. “There’s only one scientist from down there that made it. He’s holed up with the rest of them in the makeshift camp we’ve got running.”  
          “And the Matriarch is there?” Garrus asks. He sends Shepard a quick glance, and she understands. _He’s being awfully cagey with the info about Benezia._  
          “Not exactly. There are still labs up here designated high-security that went into lockdown mode when the breach happened. I’m guessing if she came here with that security clearance, what she wants would be there.”  
          “I’ll be going to your camp, Captain. I need to speak with some of these employees.” Shepard waits a second for him to protest, but he just nods tiredly.  
          “Whatever you want, Spectre. I’m not sure what you think you’ll learn; they’re paid not to talk. Doesn’t change what’s going on front end.” The men on body detail have finished dumping the bodies down the stairs, and sluggishly return to their posts.  
          Shepard and her squad move past the frontline defenses and through the tunnel-like hallway connections between rooms. The path is a bit farther than Shepard is expecting, and it’s hard to shake the anticipation that every turn will reveal more insects, waiting in ambush. Instead, when the last door opens, an open connection room sprawls out before them. People of different races sit and stand in ragged groups, wearing the white scrubs of scientists emblazoned with the Binary Helix logo. Human, salarian, asari – even an elcor sits on his haunches near the middle of the room.  
          Perhaps it’s his unusual presence, or the fact that the species is known for its straightforward communication, but Shepard makes a beeline for the group of scientists clustered around the elcor. At the edge of the room, an asari scientist openly watches the group’s movement. Shepard makes note of her. She’d half hoped that leaving Noveria’s hub would put an end to the intrigue, and it looks like she will be sadly disappointed.  
          “A human. Commander,” The elcor says in a droning, monotone voice from the series of vertical slats that serve as his mouth. “With relief: I am Doctor Petozi. We heard the firefight. We are glad to see you.”  
          “Glad I could help, Doctor,” Shepard says, giving a little bow with her head. To other races, elcor prefix most statements with their desired tone; among themselves they communicate emotion and intent with extremely subtle body language and subvocalized infrasound. “There’s been no trouble back here, I hope.”  
          “With worry: not yet, although I fear that will not last. The guards have gone for days with little food or sleep. Agitated: we should be evacuating, not waiting around.”  
          “And then that Matriarch came and went into the locked-down sections,” a human woman adds. She barely reaches the bottom of the elcor’s shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for her for almost a day! How long does to it take to find whatever she’s looking for?!”  
          “Resigned: Perhaps she did not survive. In that case, we are waiting for nothing.”  
          “Oh, don’t say that, Petozi!” The woman wrings her hands. “If those things are back there as well, then it means we’ve got them on either side of us!”  
          Liara stiffens at the subject, and Shepard wills her to stay calm. “I’m sure it’s not come to that,” she says to the scientists placatingly. “I’m heading back to those labs to look for her. Is there anything you can tell me?”  
          Both elcor and woman hesitate. “Uncertainly: there is not much to say. Those labs are in lockdown. Only those with proper authorization can access them since the start of emergency mode. Assuredly: even we cannot access them, and we were assigned to these rooms.”  
          “All the scientists up here worked on the upper level?” Garrus asks. “We heard there was a survivor from the labs below.”  
          Now they look abashedly uncomfortable. “Han Olar. The only volus at the facility.” The woman glances to the other end of the room. “He made up here okay… but he also didn’t. I mean, go talk to him if you want, but be patient. He doesn’t know anything about the Matriarch. None of us do.”  
          “Right. I should go.” Nodding to the two, Shepard walks past them towards the other side. A quick side glance reveals that the asari from before is still watching them impassively. _Fine. If Han Olar doesn’t have much to say, I’m coming for you next._  
          At the corner of the camp, an open doorway leads to a small anteroom. One side of the room has a window, revealing the same white snowstorm as all the others. Standing alone in front of the window is unmistakably Han Olar.  
          The volus are small species, only reaching a human’s waist. Like the quarians, each of them must wear whole-body environment suits, but the design between the two species is night and day – volus suits are bulky and plain compared to the sleek, elaborate style of the quarians. Perhaps it’s a from the differences of necessity – unlike the People of the Migrant Fleet, volus immunity is not the issue; only the physical need to breathe high-pressure ammonia.  
          “Han?” Shepard asks calmly after waiting a few respectful moments. He’s not surprised to see her; in fact, he barely reacts at all.  
          “Hello. Commander,” he nods to the red stripe on her hardsuit sleeve and studies each squad member from the glowing yellow eyeports of his suit. His voice is almost as monotone as an elcor’s, and he speaks so softly the suit speaker crackles. “I imagine you’re not here to stop them.”  
          “Them,” Shepard echoes. “The creatures attacking us? I’ll help you all the best I can, but honestly I’m here for the asari Matriarch. Is she after something concerning them?”  
          “Heh. I thought so. If anyone on the outside knew, they’d send more than just a turian, an asari, and a single Earth-clan commander.”  
          “Knew what?” _That dull tone, the resigned demeanor…_ “Han Olar. What are those things from the lower labs?”  
          “They’re rachni,” he says.  
          For a few wild seconds Shepard’s sure he’s just jerking her around, telling her some ridiculous answer. She tries to formulate some impatient reply – but she doesn’t feel impatient. She feels something else entirely. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears. Pain crests in her head like a wave.  
          “That can’t be possible!” Liara says, clenching her fists. A flash of biotics passes over both hands. “The rachni – were killed to extinction – after the Wars – ”  
          “They were. We were losing those wars, weren’t we? Until the krogan stepped up. Then they killed every last one,” Han says. “We found a ship. Old. Derelict. Floating out in space. It matched the designs of the rachni ships, but the last time anyone saw one of those, it was before the Krogan Rebellions. How could we have guessed? We weren’t historians.  
          “Inside, we found cryo stasis pods. All were damaged, offline. Basic danger of cryo, you know. Except for one. Had an egg in it. An intact, unhatched rachni.”  
          “And you kept it?!” Garrus says. “After everything that happened – the volus were a part of Citadel space when the rachni invaded! Your people were _there!_ ”  
          “We were planning on cloning it.” Han doesn’t even acknowledge that Garrus has spoken. “Set up the equipment, prepared for first review. But we didn’t have to worry so much. We’d have all the rachni we wanted. It was a queen.”  
           “Oh shit,” Shepard says.  
          A rachni queen. The ruling matrons of their family-hives. The perpetrators of the Rachni Wars, the silent voices when entreaties of peace were made. Humanity may not have been present when the conflict happened, but it is a hard-hammered lesson in history for any race that came afterwards. _Even after the Rebellions, the Citadel kept the statue of the krogan. For killing every last rachni they could find._  
          “Han. Han… Olar.” It’s hard to concentrate, hard to think. What to do now? Other than lay down and despair. Shepard remembers the hollow look of the guards at the barricades, the salarian’s last words in the security station.  
           _No help's coming. They can’t risk this getting out._  
           _Silhouettes running from a wall of fire._  
          No no no damn it not now not now. Shepard hisses in a breath and presses a hand against her temple. Outside the wind howls. _In the labs below us, there are rachni. Those things we’ve been fighting are fucking rachni!_  
           _Concentrate!_  
          “Olar, how did you survive that?!” Garrus says. “How were you the only one to make it?”  
          “I killed her.”  
          Another wave of shock disrupts Shepard’s thought process; that and _A ship landing, unfurling its tentacles – no no stop it._  
          “We were going to lunch,” Han Olar is saying. “We were almost to the elevator when the alarms sounded. I knew what it meant. We both did, but I… just acted faster. Got to the elevator, and closed it. Part of the doors were glass, so I guess I thought they would get to me just as easily. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe I knew what would happen. I watched them. They got her. Too busy to get inside, gave me time to reach this level. Ventralis was already setting up the bombs when the doors opened up again.” He looks to each of them, shrugging. “She beat on the doors until they ripped her apart.”  
          The monotone story and the Prothean visions are not a good combination – the nauseating swell rises high in Shepard’s throat before she can push it back down again. There’s a part of her still aware that she needs to be asking him questions, forming a plan, but…  
          “What do you know about the asari Matriarch, Han?” Garrus asks. His anxiety is suppressed behind the professional tone.  
          “I don’t know why she’s here,” Olar continues on. “I guess you could always ask her yourself.” He points to the opposite wall. “It’s a side shaft for maintenance. Doesn’t get locked down in emergency mode. I always told them it was a bad building design flaw.”  
          Shepard gapes at it. She can’t form the words – _They wander the ruined city like walking corpses._  
          “We can just… go?” Garrus says.  
          “Sure.” Han shrugs. “Isn’t it funny? If they ever get to this level, this is where they’ll come from. I hope the end comes soon.”  
          “Han Olar!” A woman’s voice shouts from the doorway. Shepard and her squad whip around to find the watchful asari from the main room, gun raised and pointed right at them. “You’re divulging confidential information! A clear breach of company terms!”  
          Han shrugs again. “So? Binary Helix doesn’t decide who lives or dies. At this point, that should be clear.”  
          “Shut up!” She furiously turns her attention back on Shepard. “She told me a human commander would be on the way. I was told to watch out for you. In case the rachni didn’t kill you first.”  
          “She?” Shepard keeps herself still under the scrutiny of the gun, wresting down the pain. The assumption she was safe in the survivor camp was a dangerous one. “You’re working for Benezia, aren’t you?”  
          “We’re all working for Benezia,” the asari snarls back. “Everyone here is so fucking scared of the rachni, they’ll disobey orders hoping you’ll save their asses. Even though Lady Benezia told us to – ”  
          “See?” Han Olar sighs. “They think they can escape it. But they know. Benezia won’t save them.”  
          “I remember my orders!” The asari takes a couple steps forward, closing in on Shepard. “And when she returns, Lady Benezia will – “  
          The blue aura of biotics envelops the asari and wrenches her body back, causing her to drop the gun. Shepard doesn’t even have to think – even with the visions of war skirting her thoughts, the muscle memory comes through. In the space of a moment, her own pistol is in her hands and her finger pulls the trigger, firing two shots in the woman’s chest.  
          She falls, gurgling and still reaching for her gun. Han Olar watches the outcome impassively. “We thought we were gods,” he says to no one in particular. “But no one has that power.”  
          “Thanks, Liara,” Shepard says as she strides to the maintenance door and tries to kick it open. Liara says something in return, but Shepard misses it – flustered, upset, and still fighting back the vision. The door refuses to open, even after two tries. The frustration detonates in Shepard’s chest –  
          A hand touches her shoulder, very lightly, and gently guides her away from the door. Shepard looks back sharply, assuming it’s Liara, but it’s Garrus, standing a full head taller than Shepard herself. The surprise of that single fact cuts through everything else for a few blissful moments. _Wow. A freaking turian just touched me._ She stares dumbly.  
          Without a word, Vakarian takes her place and kicks down the door, letting in a blast of cold from the outside. Right on cue, the hardsuit VIs start to compensate for the temperature change. Shepard barely notices it. “Thanks, Garrus.”  
          “You loosened it up for me.” He waits for her to make the first move, to lead them back outside. Back on the mission.  
          The side door leads to an open, icy catwalk only partially shielded from the wind. The three of them rush along, following the one path left available. It eventually leads to another door next to a massive series of pipes twining over the building’s exterior. Shepard openly allows room for Garrus to force it open as well.  
          They reinter the facility with weapons ready. The connecting room is some sort of utility room, with machinery and boilers and tangles of pipes and filled with a loud low hum. The door leading deeper in is not even mechanically locked – it just opens as Shepard turns the handle. The sudden ease of access seems strangely forbidding – _I’m going to pay for it later._ Swallowing down the disquiet and the pain in her head, she stalks her way forward. Her squad’s presence spurs her on.  
          The paths are mostly catwalks here, raised a few feet off the floor to allow for more pipes and wires to run unimpeded throughout. There’s a reason for it, Shepard knows, but it’s not apparent yet. There’s something here that needs a lot of resources.  
          Shepard throws open the next door, and finds herself in the laboratory.  
          It’s a massive single room. At the center is a sprawling chamber, encased in what looks like glass. It can’t be, of course, because contained in the cage is a rachni. It’s the size of a freight car, the curve of its back almost touching the top wall of its container. It’s a dusky purple color, save for the eyes, which are a pale blue. In the confines of its enclosure, the long antennae run back along its body, then double forward to end near the point of its ring of saber fangs.  
          The rachni queen.  
          “You don’t know what it’s like, Claire Shepard,” says the black-clad asari standing at the side of the cage, watching the rachni. “Being a mother. There is power there. You create a life. You shape it. Her children were perfect. They were to be Saren’s soldiers, ushering his will in an unending tide.” Benezia doesn’t wait for a reply, knowing there will be none. “I will not be swayed, Shepard. Did you think to play to my sympathies? There are none.”  
          “You mean Liara?” Shepard stares down the woman with as much fire as she can muster. “She came of her own free will. I gave her the choice, and she chose.”  
          “I am here because I want to be!” Liara says, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t want to believe it! Even after everything… Mother, I didn’t want to believe it…”  
          “And yet you stayed. You remained at Shepard’s side.” Benezia brings her hands to her stomach and clasps them.  
          “I did! And I see now it was the right choice!” Liara’s eyes shine with tears. “I see past my own denial! Have you gone insane?!”  
          “Have you ever faced an asari like me before?” Benezia asks almost lazily, slowly turning her gaze back to Shepard. “Few could say they have, and lived.”  
          “This won’t be settled peacefully,” Shepard says. It’s unnerving to admit, but at least being back on the battlefield is something familiar. No time to think about the rachni crammed in the middle of the room.  
          “It won’t,” agrees Benezia. “But you knew that from the start.”  
          A blast of biotic power knocks them back, sending Shepard scrambling. Garrus and Liara follow close behind. A wave of projectiles follows them as the various lab equipment is caught in the biotic hurricane. A wide lab bench near the queen’s enclosure is tossed to the side and topples over.  
          Shepard makes a dive for it, using the wide surface as cover against the invisible blasts. Countless pieces of equipment; glassware, scalpels and syringes all swirl about the room in the silent biotic tempest. Entire shelves and racks are ripped up and tossed about.  
          Benezia holds out her other arm, and a sphere of power hurls straight for them, giving off a faint blue glow as it moves. It catches a shelf and sends it flying past, trailing jugs of unknown chemicals.  
          In the corner of her vision Shepard sees Garrus take a shot. The bench jerks back and forth in the biotic assault, interfering with aiming.  
          “Commander. We’ve got more company. Benezia’s asari followers,” Garrus says. Even in the heat of everything, his voice is calm, if a little strained. “Liara, help me here – ”  
          Liara doesn’t answer, but Shepard doesn’t have the time to check in on her. Benezia is keeping her distance, launching the attack with biotic-fueled missiles. But that works for Shepard too.  
          It takes agonizing minutes to prime the sniper rifle. Entire shelves and bits of furniture have been strewn between them, creating cover, sailing around. All she can see of Benezia is half a torso, then an upper arm. Shepard lines the shot and fires – just as the bench lurches forward and misaligns her shot.  
          Crying out in frustration, Shepard reloads a thermal clip and starts priming for the next try. She can only rely on the assumption that the others can manage to fend off Benezia’s asari minions. All around them is the disorienting chaos of battle; gunfire, the din of all the objects in Benezia’s whirlwind colliding with the walls and the rachni cage and their cover – then the rachni queen starts making a noise, a soft warbling noise clearly audible from the cage.  
           _Oh no. Please don’t break free._ If that massive thing gets out, Shepard will only have just enough time to regret the turn of events before they all die. Not even Benezia would stand a chance against that twelve foot-high death machine.  
          Shepard focuses through the scope, past the hyper-magnified images of the overturned shelves and piled desks. The combat VI in the gun autocorrects for a good chunk of the instability, but it’s far from perfect. Any more jostles like the one before, and she’s probably better off just firing wildly with the heavy pistol.  
          But then Benezia steps back, arms outstretched, visible in the narrow space between two desks in the heap. Her torso passes clearly in the center of the scope, and once again muscle memory pulls the trigger with little actual thought from Shepard. The body jerks back, staggers, and falls.  
          The items flying throughout the room drop suddenly in a hail of debris.  
          Shepard’s still in firing position, the adrenaline rush from the hit charging through her veins. Bowing her head, she takes a moment to slow her breath, calm down. A bead of sweat trickles down her face. Without looking up she goes through the familiar motions of compacting the sniper rifle, then stowing it on her back.  
           _Benezia._  
           _I took the shot._  
           _I stopped a powerful ally of Saren’s._  
           _I killed Liara’s mother._  
          Shepard leans forward and rests her forehead against the edge of the overturned bench. _I gave her the chance to go. I told her it would end up like this._ She closes her eyes. _Y’know, this is really one time I wouldn’t mind being wrong._  
          “Commander.” She looks up. Garrus is still crouching next to her, stowing his gun. He speaks in a soft voice, almost a whisper, and touches his forehead at the suture between two of his dermal plates. “You’re…”  
          She mirrors the gesture, touches her forehead, and her hand comes away red. Blood. Not sweat. _When did I get hit?_ Probably when all the wreckage was flying around. Nodding to Garrus, Shepard gives the hardsuit the command to release a medi-gel so she can apply it; it’s only a minor cut and –  
          “Shepard.”  
          The voice that calls her name is plaintive and trembling. She freezes where she sits and locks eyes with Garrus.  
          It’s Benezia.  
          “Shepard. Please. _Shepard._ ”  
          Sucking in a long breath, Shepard rises to her feet and retrieves her pistol. Garrus’ eyes are wide and disbelieving as he stands to follow her. Shepard can’t believe it either. The shot had hit – right? In the momentum of battle, Shepard’s not so sure any longer. To go face a Matriarch head on? _How sure do I have to be?_  
          Liara clambers from a far-back cover point, looking pallid. She doesn’t even look at her two squadmates – she moves in a straight path around the chaos and towards her mother’s voice.  
          Shepard maneuvers around the tossed heap of desks and tables, holding the gun at the ready. To her right, the expanse of the rachni’s cage runs down the length of the room. Slumped near and on the walls are three asari in nondescript hardsuits – Benezia’s followers, fallen in battle. Here and there along the clear containment are blossoms of white bullet strikes.  
          If it had shattered…  
          Benezia lies on her side, feebly pushing herself up on one elbow. The robes are stained dark around the wound – she’s definitely hit, grievously so. The proud, unrelenting air is completely vanished. Now the asari Matriarch looks wan, feverish. Shepard’s seen victims of bullet wounds and battle, and this is different. Benezia is mortally wounded, but she looks like she’s only just been clinging to life for weeks, as if in the final ailing stages of some terminal illness.  
          She looks to Liara standing before her in shock, and smiles weakly. “Liara. My little wing…”  
          The words snap something in the younger asari. She dashes forward to Benezia and kneels next to her, cradling her. “Mother! Mother, I…”  
          Benezia clutches Liara’s hand, looking past her shoulder to where Shepard and Garrus still stand a cautious distance away. “Shepard,” she rasps. “Please. Not much… time. You have to – stop him.”  
          Shepard strides forward, lowering the gun just a bit. “Saren? Lady Benezia, what is he planning?”  
          She grimaces openly, turns her face towards her daughter’s body. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s clouded me. I was barely… there. I can only… fight the indoctrination… for a short while.”  
          “I don’t…” Shepard lowers the gun back to her waist and advances to Benezia’s side. Garrus remains at guard, standing just behind her as she kneels before the Matriarch. “Lady Benezia, I don’t understand.”  
          “It was not my will. Please know – it was not – my will.” Benezia turns backs and looks Shepard in the eye. “I discovered his plans. I knew them. But how to stop a Council Spectre – so powerful – so protected. I had to subvert him – from the inside…”  
          “You were supposed to be a double agent,” Garrus says, disbelieving. “You were fooling him this whole time?”  
          “Why – why fight us?!” The sick alarm crashes over Shepard like a tidal wave. “Who is here, that you had to keep up the charade?!” Shepard looks up wildly, but there’s only the bodies of Benezia’s soldiers – and the rachni queen. The medi-gel – it’s still prepped to deploy for the cut on her forehead. Shepard scrambles for the medical-canister holder on the small of her back. “I fucking shot you!”  
          “Shepard,” Benezia reaches out and gently takes her arm, stopping the motion. “Saren can… change the will of those – around him. After I learned of it, I thought I could –resist. Shepard… it is subtle. And it cannot be reversed. I will – never be – _myself again!_ ” It comes out in a wracking sob. “Even with all my biotic power, I could only store away this last bit of will, to use… to use… when I could finally do some good with it.”  
          “How?” Shepard says, shaking her head. “How can anyone have the kind of power to manipulate a Matriarch?”  
          “The ship,” Benezia says. “His warship, the Sovereign. It is not geth… it is not… anything.” She gasps. “Here – I was sent here. As its power creeps back into my mind, so do – the orders. He is looking for the Mu mass relay. It will lead to – the Conduit.”  
          “The Mu – ” It means something, but Shepard has no idea what.  
          “The Mu relay was lost thousands of years ago,” Garrus says, speaking quickly. “Its sun went supernova and blew the relay out of its charted position. It’s been lost for so long it’s basically a Citadel urban legend.”  
          “What!” Shepard looks to him sharply. “Are we sure it wasn’t destroyed?”  
          “They’re Prothean artifacts, Commander. They’re more or less impossible to destroy,” Garrus says. “And they’re ‘cold’ running – no heat or radiation, so once you lose one out in space, it’s pretty much gone.”  
          “The rachni…” Benezia coughs. “They found the relay, before their invasion. And while studying this queen… Binary Helix discovered that queens share – genetic memory with their mothers.”  
          “It knows?” Shepard asks. The three of them look up sharply, to the massive being within the enclosure. “How could you get that information, though…? I don’t…”  
          Benezia grimaces. “It is contained within her memory. Using my power… I took it, straight from her mind. It was not quick. I was not gentle.”  
          In the cage, the queen makes a quick chittering noise. Shepard watches it carefully. _Can it… understand what we’re saying? Is it angry?_  
          “Here… are the coordinates for the relay, Shepard…” Benezia retrieves a tiny datapad out of an inner pocket of her robes. “Yes…. I remember now. I began expressing the – last of my will to prepare it for you. I knew – that after I met you, it would be the end.”  
          “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Shepard takes the datapad almost reverently. She looks at it in her hands – it’s another step in Saren’s plan. They’re still playing catch-up, but progress is progress. And it’s all because of Benezia – “Lady Benezia, I’m just – I’m sorry.”  
          “My fate was decided long – before you were involved,” Benezia says. “I owe you two thanks, Shepard: One for letting me die as myself. And two for – letting me see my daughter again.” Her eyelids flutter. “And a third, in advance – for stopping Saren’s plan. My little wing… you always made me proud.”  
          Liara gives a start, bends over her mother. “I… please… I’m here.”  
          “No light…” Benezia says, so faintly. “They said there would be light…”  
          Liara sobs as she holds the lifeless body. Shepard stands, leaving the display of naked emotion and exhaling the breath she didn’t know she was holding. An asari Matriarch is dead – corrupted by some unknown power, after she’d made it her mission to stop Saren herself.  
           _Everyone else who stuck around went crazy, or disappeared._  
           _A few stragglers wander the ruins, lost and confused._  
          Shepard can’t suppress a quick, violent shiver. _I’m chasing a ghost. I’m fighting fate itself. If an asari Matriarch was turned, what chance do I have?_ What had she called it?  
          Indoctrination.  
          But Liara’s sobs go on and on, and somehow, it grounds the fear. The datapad feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, in her hands. _Benezia died to get me this chance. I have to try._  
          Shepard goes to the massive terminal before the rachni’s cage and opens the commands, hacking what she needs through her omni-tool. At this point, she’s beyond caring as it triggers alarm firewalls. There’s directives for the rachni’s cage, for the general lab lockdown, and for a failsafe in the lower labs. Reports shows life signs in the lower labs, but the sensors are too damaged to show camera feeds or individual numbers.  
          But Shepard can guess. It’s rachni – lots of little rachni.  
          Garrus looks over the monitor with her, silent. Liara remains mourning over her mother, and the sobs finally quiet but do not stop.  
          Shepard studies the failsafe directives – it looks like the lower labs are rigged to trigger a series of plasma explosions, intense enough to eradicate any biological life. _The lower labs must be pretty deep down in the mountains._ The next failsafe directive is for the queen’s tank; it can be filled with acid to kill her.  
          A quick-tempo noise thuds near the rachni tank, and Shepard and Garrus stagger back in alarm. Liara looks up from holding her mother. One of the collapsed asari soldiers thrashes against the cage, clawing up against the sides.  
          “She’s – still alive?!” Shepard takes another few prudent steps back, but she doesn’t really believe this. Vakarian himself took down these soldiers. There’s no way –  
          The body manages to lurch to her feet, leaning against the containment wall. Inside, the rachni queen watches. Her antenna begin to wave up and down, very gently.  
          “This… this thing. This is our voice,” the asari says in a slow, shuddering voice. The tone is low and throaty, probably the lowest octave it can go. “We can-not sing. The mu-sic is… co-lorless…”  
          “What the hell?!” Without taking her eyes off the swaying asari, Shepard waves for Liara to get away. She clambers to her feet and scrambles to safety behind the two soldiers. “Who are you?”  
          “We sing for the oth-ers. For the ones left be-hind.” The asari’s head lulls back and forth before it slowly stabilizes and raises. Her eyes are closed. “We are the moth-er. We are rachni.”  
          The silence returns. Shepard hesitates to speak – what can she even say? _The rachni are intelligent?_ All the stories and reports from the Rachni Wars only spoke of attacks like swarms of mindless insects. “How… are you controlling her?”  
          For a second the body sways. “She is dying. She is a-fraid.” The lilting words become a little smoother, a little easier to understand. “We reach out to her, and she holds on tight-ly. Still she slips. Her mu-sic is beautiful. Bitter – sweet….”  
          Shepard takes a cautious step towards the tank, despite Liara’s panicked noise. She’s speaking – to a rachni. Said to be a mindless pestilence, and long extinct. Both wrong, it seems.  
          The queen shifts in her cell as best she can, but it’s too narrow to even move her head-segment properly. But she tries anyways, and her ring of fangs open like a blooming flower, then intertwine again.  
          She seems to be waiting for Shepard to speak again, so… “There are rachni attacking people. They attacked us. Here in the facility.”  
          The queen herself makes the chittering noise again. “My child-ren,” the asari intones. “They grew in their eggs. Then they were tak-en. They-would-be… claws, for their great army.” The asari stops, and her face grimaces and twitches horribly. “They are a-way… from the mother’s song. Mothers are comfort-table in the si-lence. It does not – frighten us. But the child-ren…  
          “They sought to con-trol. To remove the child-ren from my guidance. But… They were born into si-lence. They are born afraid. They are kept in cages, far from my song.”  
          “So they’re scared?” Shepard swallows hard. “They’re attacking people because they don’t know any better? Can’t you… reach out to them, ask them to stop?”  
          “The child-ren are gone. Lost to the si-lence. They can-not be saved. They will only cause suff-ering. Please end… their nightmare.”  
          “I…” Shepard hesitates, and nods. No one would no better about this than a rachni. “I’ll do it. I’m… sorry about your children.”  
          The queen shifts in her tank. “It is sad. It is ne-cessary.”  
          “It… it makes sense,” Liara says. “Doesn’t it? If you were to lock a child in a dark room all their life, they won’t be functional when they reach adulthood.”  
          “She called you Shep-ard.” The asari puppet motions woodenly to Benezia’s still form. “We ask an-other terrible thing of you, Shep-ard. Do not leave us here for the shin-ing lights and sharp needles. Do not let them keep taking my chil-dren…”  
          “You… want me to _free_ you?” Shepard says. All the caution and careful rapport evaporates like a puff of smoke. “Your people caused war. They didn’t even refuse to negotiate – _they never even bothered to answer._ ”  
          “Do not leave us here for them. It is all we ask.” The rachni queen and her commandeered proxy do not respond further, leaving the unspoken conclusion hanging in the air – it’s either free her, or use the acid.  
          Shepard forces herself calm, trying to work through her options. The ramifications of either are immeasurable. This is a queen – the sole keeper of genetic material and source of future generations. If she is killed, the rachni will truly be dead. But she’s a queen – the source, keeper, and ruling force behind her hive. She’ll eventually have daughter-queens of her own – and then the rachni will truly return, just as furious as their ancestors advancing on the Citadel. _They only won because of the krogan. Who have been left genetically enfeebled and entirely pissed off._  
          “We have to let her go free!” Liara says fiercely. “Commander!”  
          Shepard looks back over her shoulder to the impassioned asari. She’s streaked with blood, tear-stained, and watching the queen with wide eyes. She turns to Shepard and clenches her fists. “The krogan killed off every last rachni queen. They went too far. We can give her another chance!”  
          It’s a sensible argument, but so is the other side. A sudden, irrational flash of fury rages in Shepard’s chest, and she gives a little start as it rises. _Kill off the last rachni, or maybe doom the galaxy to another bloody war they almost lost the first time. Really? This decision’s falling on me? Really?_  
          Well. One point for release. She takes a deep breath and looks to Garrus. “Vakarian? Thoughts?”  
          His eyes never leave the massive insect. “I don’t know about the krogan going too far, Commander. I’d say that the rachni got back what they gave.” Liara whirls on him, furrowing her brow, but he adds, “But I also don’t think genocide is the answer. This is…”  
          The queen makes a chirp, but again her asari offers no comment. _I guess there’s one more person I could be asking._ There may be a way to phrase this delicately, but Shepard’s head is reeling from all the implications of the choices before her. The pressure in her head suggests that sooner or later there is a wave of visions coming on – best to wrap this up before having another attack.  
          “Let’s say I let you go. Hypothetically. How long would it take for you to reach numbers to wage war again – ”  
          “No war!” The asari stumbles to the side with the force of it. In the tank, the queen’s chirruping turns fast and frantic. “No war. Re-leased to the stars, we would hide. Guide our children. Sing always of peace with the kee-pers of the other music. We swear it…”  
          “Why was the Citadel attacked in the first place?” Shepard asks. The anger bleeds over into her voice – the thought of a long and brutal war, fought without ever knowing why. “Benezia said you have genetic memory. Why did your mothers…. What’s making you decide differently?”  
          “A song,” the asari says, and the noise from the rachni queen falls to a low chatter. “A sour sound. A noise like oily shad-ows, forcing all to re-sonate in that single acid note. The children were sent out in fire and fren-zy – lost in the storm. Dis-cord followed by death. In their mad-ness, the mothers channeled their strength to the quickening, creat-ing the eggs of daughters.”  
          “Wait. Something made them go berserk? They didn’t attack of their own free will?” Shepard strides forward, slamming her hand on the clear wall of the tank.  
          “We remember.” The hijacked asari stands right beside Shepard, almost touching shoulders. “Their daughters fell too. Entire choruses, drowned out. Each added to the cacophony.”  
          “And?”  
          “Eventually those were born, res-istant to the note. Mo-thers who could sing their own refrain. They could not purify the sha-dow-song, but they could rem-ain untouched. But they were so few. And the kee-pers of the war drums were sent…”  
          “The krogan,” Garrus says from behind her. “They killed all of them. The resistant queens, along with the corrupted ones.”  
          “There is no blame. We remember – songs of fear, pleas of peace ig-nored through the madness. So much blood, at the feet of the moth-ers. And so – we were sent,” the asari groans. “With our sisters. Kept in eggs, kept in the cold-sleep. Sent to the dark-ness of space, to awaken and sing once more, once the gal-axy had forgot-ten our sins.”  
          “But the other eggs died,” Shepard says, almost to herself. “You’re the only one who survived – the dark note, the krogan, the cryo stasis.”  
          The rachni queen does not answer – Shepard’s words speak for themselves. She can practically hear Liara’s mental pleading for mercy.  
          Still pressing her hand against the tank, Shepard closes it tight into a fist. “Swear to me that it’s true,” she says. “Swear to me you only want peace.”  
          Beyond the glass, the queen’s massive pearly eye shimmers as she cocks her head. “Hide – humble – rebuild – heal. Ne-ver hurt.” The words break down. “Keep the dream – of-the – moth-ers…”  
          Shepard hesitates, but deep down she knows she’s only stalling for time. The decision’s already made. Leaning off the tank, she takes a few steps back, nodding. At the console, the system directives are still displayed. As Shepard lists the commands to run, the asari mouthpiece starts to sway.  
          “She-pard? The child-ren below? Do not let them…”  
          “I won’t,” Shepard says. “There’s a failsafe here to blow the lower labs, where the rachni… children are. I’ll… put an end to it.” She looks up at the queen in the tank, finally ready to say the words. “And I’m letting you go. Once the tank reaches the roof, can you get away safely?”  
          The asari shudders, falls to her hands and knees. The queen herself strains against the sides of the tank, trying to turn her head to look at Shepard directly. The long antennae undulate, the fangs draw back and then relax. “Flee. Will go. Will hide. Raise chil-dren and teach them these less-ons of forgiveness. We will remember She-pard’s kindness forever.”  
          The tank starts to lift, taking her to the opening panel in the ceiling. The raging snowstorm can be seen outside. The queen is finally high enough to look down through the clear bottom of the tank and see her benefactors. She chirrups again.  
          “We swear it, She-pard. We will do good-things, as She-pard has done good-things for us.”  
          Then, in a heavy thunk, the cage locks with the open hatch, and in one fluid motion the queen is gone. The asari collapses in a heap, twitches once, and is still.  
          Shepard watches the empty space for a few moments, then sags against the console. Whatever regrets that might pop up later, it’s done now. _For better or worse_  
          “It was the right decision,” Garrus says. He moves back to the console, standing next to her.  
          “I hope so.” Shepard’s already entering the protocols for the lab-wide purge. If she’s wrong, then the entire galaxy’s going to pay for it. But then the thought of killing the queen returns, dousing her with acid in an effortless genocide. It makes her feel queasy. “That dark note she kept mentioning…”  
          “They seem to communicate through some sort of biotic telepathy, similar to the power asari can use to transfer memories and mental information,” Liara says. “It is possible that something could corrupt these mental processes, although that sort of ability is not achievable through any race’s current technology.”  
          “Could it happen naturally? Maybe one of the rachni queens, I don’t know, got sick and infected the other ones?” Shepard pauses what she’s doing to look back to Liara. “Like a mental-biotic sickness? Does anything like happen among the asari?”  
          Liara’s eyes go wide, her mouth agape for an obvious second. Then her gaze drops quickly to the ground. “No. There is not.”  
           _So there is. She is such a terrible liar._ But Shepard sees no need to press the issue. She resumes working, setting the timing for the purge.  
          “We’ll head back and grab the survivors. The tram was big enough for entire shifts of people here; we can fit the survivors that are left,” she says, finishing the commands and closing the program. “We’ve got ten minutes to hightail out of here before those bombs go off. The VI on the console assured me that it won’t affect the upper level, but I don’t care to stick around and prove it.”  
          Liara walks solemnly over to her mother’s body, tears welling in her eyes. “And what if they won’t go? They don’t have permission to leave.”  
          “Then they’re welcome to stick behind in the ruins and wait for the red tape. At least they won’t have the rachni to worry about anymore. Not my problem. I just want to get the hell off this planet.”  
          "I understand, Commander." Bending down, Liara kisses her mother’s forehead. “Goodbye. We’ll stop him. We’ll finish it.” She stands, and her voice cracks. “I promise.”


	9. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- In the game, Liara is the one Ashley gets angry at during debriefing, but it seemed pretty harsh seeing as Liara's mother just died. So I switched it to Garrus, as Ash would be pretty hostile to a turian anyways.  
> \- In the same vein, this is also where Liara declares her romantic interest in Shepard, but like above, it felt strange to put it in at this point. So I just alluded to it. It'll come later at a more appropriate pace.  
> \- Fleshed out the process of the krogan Crush ceremony. I'll use it later!  
> \- Finally, I kept thinking that there was some kind of terrible sneaky mistake or missed foreshadowing in this chapter, but I can't remember or find it, and I've put off posting this chapter for way too long.

          The image on the comm room screen is a simplified version of the CIC galaxy map, and displays only a single set of coordinates – those given to Commander Shepard by the Matriarch Benezia as she lay dying.  
          The Mu Relay.  
          Shepard keeps her back to the group, pretending to study the map. In reality she’s fighting off a massive headache, whispers of visions from the beacon. The information concerning Saren and the fate of Benezia seemed an important turn, and she owes the crew to fill them in personally after filing her reports. Perhaps she should have just called off the debriefing in the first place – Liara is in the crew quarters, mourning her mother in private, and Kaidan is in the med bay, recovering from a migraine attack that struck while the ground teams was planetside.  
          And now the information is causing its own set of problems.  
          “We should be going!” Ashley says. She gestures to the map. “We know what Saren’s destination! What’s stopping us?”  
          “It’s just a relay, Williams,” Shepard says flatly without looking back. “We have no idea what he’s after past that.” She bows her head, just a little, trying to block out the light from the screen. She can’t turn away from it and let them see the distress she’s in, but the motions makes her neck ache in a deep burn at the base of her skull.  
          “But that’s why we need to go!” Ashley says, with a little more heat this time.  
          “The Mu relay will only lead us to a star cluster, Williams,” Garrus says patiently. “That cluster can have up to a handful of star systems. Each system will have all kinds of planets –”  
          “So we start looking!”  
          “And we don’t have the time to go searching something that extensive. What if Captain Anderson finds something while we’re out there? We don’t have enough information to go rushing off. We need to wait.”  
          “Who put you in charge?” Ashley says acidly. “Did the Commander resign while I wasn’t looking?”  
          “I didn’t mean – ”  
          Shepard wheels. _Well, this took a nasty turn._ “Your Commander is right here, Chief Williams, and she endorses everything Officer Vakarian just said.” _The relay, Benezia’s mental corruption, the rachni._ Shepard had hoped to bring up this indoctrination topic, but the debriefing has already started to collapse.  
          “Dismissed.” _Great job, Shepard._  
          They file out, solemn, although she doesn’t know if it’s from the information presented or her own scarce participation in the debriefing she called. Their footsteps sound on the floor as they leave.  
          One of set of them approaches her instead. Weighted. Wrex’s heavy form emerges in her peripheral vision, looking up at the display of the map. He says nothing.  
          His story of the mercenaries who went mad – she considers bringing it up. It parallels Benezia’s testimony closely enough. A power that comes from the warship Sovereign. _But what more can we say? He told me the story, and I gave the debriefing. There’s nothing more to discuss._  
          So instead she says, “I guess you’re pretty upset with me. About the rachni queen.”  
          He slowly turns his head, regards her with blood-red eyes and slitted pupils. “The krogan are in no position to save the galaxy’s collective ass a second time, Shepard.”  
          “I know.” The words come out a little more ragged than she likes. She reaches up and rubs her eyes. “The thought crossed my mind – I – I know.”  
          He nods once. “Then I’m not upset.” And then he turns and leaves.  
          After they’re all gone she switches off the display screen, leaving the comm room in relieving darkness. The visions still flash now and then like afterimages of light, but it helps. If even a little bit. She can’t go to the med bay with Alenko there – the crew already knows too much about her dubious health.  
          “Commander?” Joker clicks through the personal comm in her ear. “The Council’s been requesting a meeting since a few minutes ago.”  
          “Can I say no?”  
          “Don’t see why not. Just let me drop the connection here and –”  
          “Kidding, Joker. Patch them through.” She steps back a few paces from the screen, allowing plenty of room for the holographic displays to establish.  
          “Rachni, Shepard?!” The turian councilor’s voice is loud and clear, even before the representations are done loading. “A queen? And you let her live!?”  
          “She’s the last of her race. You’d rather me commit genocide?”  
          “Yes! She should have been killed!”  
          It’s strange. On the ground, and just then standing next to Wrex, Shepard had been uncertain enough about her choice. Now that she’s facing down the Council? She’s sure it was the right choice. _Probably not the best attitude for a Spectre to take._  
           “I disagree.” Short sentences – she can manage that much. “I talked with the queen about her people. She’s not going to attack anyone. She’s peaceful.”  
          “We… acknowledge that you acted as representative to the Citadel races to the queen,” the asari councilor says diplomatically, but Shepard can hear the strain in her voice. If there had been any councilor who would take her side on the no-genocide subject, it would have been the asari. It seems this is the best she will get. “We… hope that she will remember the mercy you granted her. We also hope that it will not be a regrettable choice.”  
          The comm blinks out.  
           _They called just so they could chew me out._ Shepard closes her eyes. She figured they would be unhappy about it, but… _They wouldn’t have approved no matter what I did. Killing the queen, or letting her go free…_ Spectres are looking less like elite problem-solvers and more like convenient whipping boys for lose-lose situations. No mention of Benezia, or the fact that Binary Helix was planning to use the rachni as weapons in the first place. Not a single mention.  
          Her personal comm channel clicks open, then closes as the other side thinks better of speaking. She takes a breath and straightens. “Joker? Glad to be off Noveria?”  
          “Of course, Commander. All it was was blizzards and corporations. One’ll freeze your balls off, the other’ll sell ‘em right out from under you.” He cackles at his own joke and the comm clicks off. Then it clicks on again. “Er, with all due respect, Commander.”  
          It’s dark, and she’s alone. So she smiles. “Fly the ship, Moreau.”

 

          The idea of sleep – or better yet, another dose from the med bay and then sleep – is the most welcome thing Shepard can imagine. But there’s still things left to do.  
          She leaves the comm room, moving down the hallways of the Normandy to the crew quarters on the lower deck. The area is dead silent and dark. _Maybe she’s asleep?_ The doors to the quarters slide open soundlessly, revealing Liara sitting on one of the farther bunks. On the holographic display of her omni-tool is a picture of Benezia.  
          Liara looks up, swallowing hard. She does not stand, nor does she close out the picture. “Oh. Commander,” she begins, smiling weakly. “I’m sorry I missed the debriefing.”  
          “I gave you permission to go,” Shepard says. “Even though you don’t even need it. You’re not one of my soldiers – ”  
          “I did need it. Didn’t I? Even if I’m not Alliance, I’m still a member of your crew, just like Wrex or Tali. Or Garrus.” Her eyes linger on Shepard for just a moment longer, then she looks fondly back to the picture of her mother, although her eyes begin to shine with new tears. It’s an older picture – Benezia is wearing a white dress, slashed in yellow, and smiling. She looks wise and welcoming all once, a far cry from the black-clad grim Matriarch they faced on Noveria.  
          Shepard sits down on the bunk across from Liara. “She was a strong person, Liara. She went down… trying to stop him.” _And I was the one who killed her. Way to not mention that part._  
          “No.” Liara says, closing the omni-tool and looking back up. “She did try to stop him. And I did get to say goodbye, for a few moments. But in the end, at that lab… it wasn’t my mother. After Saren got ahold of her, and she was changed by the Sovereign’s power, it wasn’t Benezia any longer.”  
          “Still. I’m sure she never wanted this to happen.”  
          Liara’s face is stone. “I’m sure the colonists of Eden Prime didn’t either, Commander. It did little to sway Saren. Or my mother aiding him.”  
          Shepard is taken aback – it’s a harsh viewpoint coming from the sheltered scholar. “Saren has a lot to answer for. Your mother and Eden Prime included.”  
          “He does. But we are not chasing him for what he has done. We do it for what he will do. And I will only remember my mother as the kind, courageous woman that she was. The one that would stop Saren, not aid him. Unwillingly or not.”  
          Shepard has nothing to say to that, but she remembers a woman too. _Go have a good life, be happy. For me._  
           _I love you._  
          “Commander, I…” Liara begins, looking down at her hands. “Please allow me to apologize for how awkward things have been between us. I am unaccustomed to dealing with others, humans especially. Your people have always seemed so rushed to me, so high-strung. You’re all so willing to jump into action, unfazed by change.”  
          “I think… that’s a result of the lifespan, Liara. We’re not as long-lived as asari, remember.”  
          “Well… perhaps. But even compared to the other similar races, humans have… an intimidating determination,” Liara says. “You see something you want, and you reach for it – your people consider themselves ready for a seat on the Council, only a few dozen years after discovering your relay!” She shakes her head. “It makes you all seem hasty. Unpredictable. It’s good the Council chose you as the first human Spectre, Shepard. Someone like you would do much to dispel that image.”  
          The short little laugh comes before she can stop it. “Me? What can I do? The rest of humanity sees me as either an Alliance lackey or colony trash. What does that say for my image to the rest of the galaxy?”  
          “That is precisely my point. Your past at Mindoir alone is notable enough. But you’re a war hero, Shepard. Your actions at the Skyllian Blitz – Elysium may be a human colony, but almost half of its population is alien. You managed to rally those colonists together and repel the attack – again by batarian pirates – protecting the entrance to the colony by yourself with sniper cover. And you always speak of cooperation, support between humanity and the rest of the galaxy, both as a human and an Alliance officer.”  
          Shepard shifts uncomfortably. This recital of her past isn’t wrong, exactly, just – artificial. Glamorized. The Star of Terra was an honor, no question, but at the time of the attack, Shepard had been trying to survive like everyone else on Elysium. The romanticized version never mentioned the blood and bodies. The people she had promised to protect and failed. The people who had taken her at her word and found out the hard way they’d taken a sucker’s bet.  
          “Well, you’ve… done your homework,” Shepard offers, and inwardly grimaces. _That’s the best you can respond with?_  
          “I… I did, I suppose,” Liara says, ending in an awkward laugh. “I wanted to know more about your past, to know more about the person you are presently.”  
          The discomfort develops into an itchy feeling. “You could’ve asked me. I’m not trying to hide anything.”  
          “I do not mean to imply that you are. I simply wanted information, Shepard, and did not wish to trouble you with my… indulgences. I must admit that of late I have noticed my interest in you increase-” She stops abruptly, and her blue-toned skin actually blushes a red-purple color. “Ah! I – I am sorry – I did not mean to imply – but it’s not to say that – ”  
          “Liara, relax.” Shepard’s voice is calm enough, but inside she’s more than a little startled. _Just what is she trying to say? Is this going where I think it’s going?_ “I… appreciate that you’ve put so much faith in me. I can only hope I won’t let you down.”  
          “You don’t have to worry. I am here for you, as is the rest of your crew. Although… I am still unsure why you make the effort to speak with me personally like this.”  
          “You just said yourself you’re a member of the crew, Liara,” Shepard says. “I’m interested in how you’re doing, especially after… something like what just happened. You’ve become a good friend.”  
          For a second something flashes across Liara’s face, some raw emotion. But it’s too fast, replaced by a small smile. “Thank you, Commander. That sentiment means a great deal to me.”  
          Smiling, Shepard stand and nods to Liara. “I should go, Doctor. I need to go check in on Alenko at the med bay.” _And if he’s not there, Chakwas and I need to have a talk._ But Liara doesn’t need to know that part. “Take all the time you need. We’re on downtime, and it’s best to take advantage of it.”  
          “You remember that too, Commander.”  
          “Sure.” _I wish._

          Doctor Chakwas catches Shepard’s eye the second she enters the med bay. The older woman’s eyebrow raises just slightly, but she doesn’t speak. On a medical bed off to the right lays Kaidan, arm crossed over his eyes. He shifts, studying Shepard from the shadow under his arm, then lays it back over, blocking out the dimmed lights.  
          “Commander. Here to tell me naptime is over?” He’s trying to keep his voice light, but the strain is still audible. _I feel you, Lieutenant._  
          “Naptime’s not over till the Chief Medical Officer says it is.” In Shepard’s peripheral vision, Chakwas moves back to one of the cabinets and searches for something. Keeping her eyes on Kaidan, Shepard asks, “You doing all right, Alenko?”  
          “Sure. Never been better,” he says hoarsely. “This version of better almost makes me want to consider the bio-amp retrograde.”  
          “Almost?”  
          “Then I remember that it’s just one slip and you’re brain-dead. A life with migraines is still a life. And I can’t complain too much. This could have been aggressive inoperable brain tumors.”  
          It gives Shepard something to think about. Could she be that accepting if these visions stay with her for the rest of her life? _Hell, what if Saren’s getting them too?_ It almost makes it bearable to think about. _I hope you’re hurting, you bastard._ To Kaidan she says, “You get filled in on the current events?”  
          “Yeah, actually.” Kaidan is stone-still on the bed. “Ashley came by and told me everything.”  
          “Ashley did.” Shepard meant it as a confirmation, but her tone betrays her.  
          “So what happened? I want to hear it from the CO’s mouth.”  
          “Williams got a little excited. Insisted we head for the relay right away.” _And I’m too incapacitated to defuse it._ “Vakarian tried to talk her down, and she got pretty… offended.”  
          “That’s not exactly how she put it.” Kaidan takes a moment to recover. “Well, he was right. I told her as much too. Remember what Liara…” He trails off, then takes a deep breath. “What Liara said when we picked her up? The information from the Eden Prime beacon is unusable. When Saren resurfaces to act on that…”  
          “Then we strike,” Shepard confirms. “He can’t hide forever.”  
          Chakwas comes forward to stand beside Shepard. “And for that you’ll need to be ready. Both of you.” Keeping her hands down, she surreptitiously passes something into Shepard’s hand – another pill.  
          “Sounds like it’s my naptime too,” Shepard says, half to herself. “I’ll talk to you later, Lieutenant.” She turns to go, and notices Chakwas’ face as she leaves. The doctor’s eyes are narrow, her brow pinched.  
          She looks worried. Very worried.

          The beep of the alarm cuts through the darkness and the sleep with equal ease. The first split second of consciousness is re-orientation, recollection. The pounding ache is gone, which Shepard appreciates – but now her head feels like it’s full of cotton. A hangover, without the fun of drinking.  
          Blearily she opens her comm, cutting of the alarm mid-beep. “Shepard.”  
          “Commander. Incoming message.” Joker’s voice is stiff. “It’s from Admiral Hackett, ma’am.”  
          “Hackett?!” Shepard sits up straight. The drowsiness instantly evaporates, although the scratchy thoughts remain. One of the highest ranking officers of the entire Alliance is contacting her. _They’ve found something._ Her heart pounds. “Give me a few minutes to – I’ll – I’ll be right there.”  
          She practically runs down to the comm room, barely noticing the Alliance on-duty personnel who salute her as she passes. In the moments she’s alone in the hallways she smooths everything down – her hair, her uniform. Short hair means it doesn’t take long to brush down – _I should’ve taken longer getting ready – I can’t keep him waiting, though_ – She rounds the corner hard into the comm room, taking a moment to steady the hurried raggedness out of her breath.  
          She hits the Normandy’s comm open. Unlike the Council, Admiral Hackett does not use a hologram, and so the room stays relatively dark. Shepard has only met him a few times before, but she can recall him from all the military functions and extranet history specials. He’s the name any human would know, let alone a member of the Alliance.  
          “Shepard.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and the distinct sound evokes his image in Shepard’s mind. _Older man. Tall, rail thin, pale. White hair, moustache, close-cropped beard._ “A late congratulations on your induction as a Spectre.”  
          “Thank you, sir.” She swallows hard. _I was panicking over being presentable and we’re not even using holograms._ “And thank you and the Alliance for the intel that I’ve been using.”  
          “It’s our pleasure, Commander. And I’m not talking about some political nonsense, either. I’ve looked over every report you’ve sent in. You’re in for a hell of a mission.”  
          “No argument there, sir.” Hackett is a well-respected man in the Alliance; a hero of the First Contact War. If it’s him on the channel, it must be something big.  
          “Unfortunately, we don’t have anything for you right now. This message concerns something a little closer to home.”  
          The disappoint crashes against her almost physically. “Sir?” _Watch the tone. You’re not a child._  
          “Let’s not mince words, Commander. I need you for an assignment as an N7, not a Spectre. This concerns the Alliance training facility on Luna. It deals with real-time live explosions training with a VI for adaptable strategies. It’s gone rogue, Shepard. The entire facility stopped responding to our commands and overrides. We’ve evacuated the base, and now it’s just sitting empty, firing rockets at any Alliance ship that comes too close.”  
          “What is it you need me to do, sir?”  
          “Infiltrate it. This is a state-of-the-art facility, Commander. We could just bomb it down, but the losses would be heavy, and I’d like to avoid that if at all possible.”  
          “Would I be allowed my choice of squad members?”  
          “Shepard, you’re the boots on the ground. If it means reaching the central core and blasting the VI to hell, I don’t care who you bring.”  
          Shepard nods to herself, already running through the scenario in her mind. It reveals something else – “Sir, how did this happen? The facility’s virtual intelligence just decided to turn on us out of the blue one day?” She hesitates, not wanting to go on, but it has to be said. “Does that mean it’s developed into an AI?”  
          “Absolutely not.” Hackett’s voice has a harder edge now. “The synthetic network overseeing Luna’s weapons response is only a virtual intelligence, Shepard. It follows commands and responds based on programmed algorithms. It’s not self-aware. I’ll suggest that it was sabotaged in some way, although that is only my personal opinion.” After a heartbeat, he adds, “The Alliance doesn’t experiment with artificial intelligences, Shepard. I will remind you it is illegal in Citadel space since the geth uprising.”  
           _The Alliance doesn’t experiment with AI?_ Shepard has the utmost faith in her organization, but... _Everyone experiments with AI._ “Enter the facility and destroy the VI core. Understood, Admiral.”  
          “Do what you have to and put a stop to it,” Hackett reaffirms, relaxing his voice again. “In the meantime, we’ll keep on the hunt for information involving your Spectre mission. Hackett out.”  
          Not information on Saren. Shepard takes a moment to let that sink in. It’s still important, still something that Hackett himself contacted the Normandy to assign to her. _The specialized training facility on Luna, with a corrupted VI._ Just the kind of mission they’d send an N7 for.  
          But. _The Conduit. Indoctrination. Galactic extinctions._ It doesn’t seem quite so important any longer.  
          Shepard opens the Normandy’s comm to the helm. “Joker. Switch course from the Citadel. We have a new destination.”  
          “Ma’am?”  
          “We’re going to the Sol System.”

          Shepard pours herself a cup of coffee and practically collapses into the seat. The mess deck is uncharacteristically empty, save for one other person; the huge form of Wrex sits on the other side of the table. Despite his size he seems comfortable enough, and nods to her.  
          “Shepard.”  
          “Wrex.”  
          “Heard the news. We making a stop by your home?”  
          “What? It’s just Luna– ” Oh. “You mean Earth.”  
          He chuckles. “Don’t see it much as home, huh?”  
          Shepard shrugs. “It’s humanity’s home, sure. That makes it important. But it’s not my home.” The thought comes to her – no place had really come to mind when he said it. _Not sure I have a home, Wrex._  
          “I can respect that.” He nods.  
          “Well, what about you, Wrex?” Shepard looks up from her glass. “You were born on Tuchanka, right?” The krogan homeworld is a desert wasteland, but that’s all she can remember hearing about it.  
          “Yeah. Just like every other krogan. That’s where the females are. What’s left of ‘em, anyways.” Wrex shrugs. “Krogan don’t leave to go colonize other planets like the rest of you. We leave for work. Mercenary business.”  
          “Is that why you left?”  
          “I left because I had to.” Wrex pauses, looking over Shepard carefully.  
Shepard perks up. “You had to leave? What do you mean?”  
          “I tried to help my people once upon a time, Shepard. It didn’t end well.” Wrex sighs heavily. “I was born right at the end of the Rebellions. By the time I was grown, I was a Warlord – leading a tribe of my own. Everyone else wanted to fight – the salarians, the turians, each other – but we didn’t have the numbers to keep that shit up. We needed to focus on keeping our people going… regardless of how hard it was burying the stillborn.  
          “There was another Warlord named Jarrod, who was behind the push to try another war. Saw me as a complication. He arranged for a Crush. It’s a…” He reaches up and scratches one side of his leathery face. “A meeting between krogan, on Tuchanka holy ground called the Hollows. A fragment of Hollows stone is sent from one krogan to another, and the receiving party has one Tuchankan season to show up.”  
          He looks to Shepard expectantly, as if he wants some sort of reply. “Sounds like a trap,” she finally admits, taking a swig of coffee.  
          “Of course it was a trap. But some things are sacred, even to krogan. No violence is permitted at the Hollows, especially during this meeting. It’s a cultural rule of our people. Just like the fact that you show up to your Crush, especially when your father does the calling.”  
          Shepard chokes on her coffee. A quick rundown of what she knows about krogan reveals no insight to how they view family or blood ties. _Thanks, N7 training._ “Warlord Jarrod was your father…?”  
          “Not after that day. Once he knew he wouldn’t get me to back down, he gave the signal. His men jumped us, killed my guards, and went for me. I killed Jarrod with my own dagger. I left it right in his body, and got the hell off Tuchanka.”  
          “And you’ve never been back?”  
          “Awww. You tryin’ to make me cry, Shepard? Of course I’ve never been back. I gave up.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “No violence on the Hollows. No violence during a Crush – that’s the whole point. If you fail your summons, then the violence happens, but until then, there’s only words. All that, betrayed, just because Jarrod wanted to keep fighting the Citadel.”  
          “That’s… it’s bleak, Wrex.”  
          “No, it’s not. Like I said before. It’s just who we are. I was the eccentric element. Best to join the chorus. Become a mercenary. I’ve even tried tracking down the old ceremonial armor of the Urdnot clan; it was taken by profiteers during the wind-down of the war. But I’ve given up on that too. It’s all sentiment, Shepard.”  
          She watches him for a moment. _Does he really believe that?_ The fate of the krogan is desolate, no doubt, but… to just throw up his hands and declare their fates as unchangeable? _But what else can he do?_  
For a second Shepard doesn’t answer, then she asks, “That armor. How close did you get?”  
          “Pretty close. It’s been sold to some underworld private collector named Tonn Actus. I think he’s a turian. ‘Tonn Actus’. That sound like a turian name to you? Eh.” He shrugs.  
          “Well, what if we – ”  
          “Forget it, Shepard.” Wrex splays a clawed hand on the table. “We’ve got more important things to worry about the checkered past of the Urdnot clan. Are we getting a briefing about this little jaunt the Alliance sent us for?”  
           _He’s right._ Chastised, Shepard stands in one swift motion. “Briefing. Yes. Let’s go.”

 

          “Hey. I called a briefing!” Shepard stalks past the CIC, scanning the room as she passes it and enters the bridge. Keeping pace beside her, Wrex chuckles. She ignores him. “Where the hell is the rest of the crew? Joker, open the PA so I can –”  
          Crammed in the helm is the whole rest of the squad, human and alien alike.  
“What? We’re having the briefing in the helm now?” Shepard enters the room – it’s not small, per se, but it’s definitely not big enough for all the people. “Dammit Wrex, stop pushing!” She maneuvers her way to the front. “What the hell are we all doing-?”  
          Earth fills the view of the Normandy’s windows. From their angle, the light shines off the ocean, and sparse clouds cover part of the atmosphere. In the space around it, constant streams of starships come to and from the many spaceports that dot the planet, a complicated pattern of traffic.  
          “Hey, Commander.” Joker is in his usual spot in the pilot’s chair, unaffected by the crowd. “You here to enjoy the view too?”  
          “I’m here to conduct the briefing. Although I can do both at the same time, I guess,” Shepard answers without looking away.  
          Earth. The home planet of humanity.  
          “Why’s it so blue?” Wrex studies the planet with a mildly interested air. He remains at the back of the room, but he towers over everyone else but Garrus.  
          “It’s water, Wrex.” Shepard still doesn’t look away.  
          “Water? The hell? You humans got gills, somewhere?”  
          Tali wriggles her way up until she’s pressing shoulders with Shepard at the forefront. “Have... any of you Alliance ever been there? Set foot upon the ground?”  
          “On Earth?” Shepard shrugs. “That’s where the Interplanetary Combatives Training is, for N-training.”  
          “I’m a colony kid like the Commander. I’m from Sirona,” Ashley says. “But I was trained at the Depot in Brazil.”  
          “I was born on Arcturus. It’s better than Earth,” Joker says flatly.  
          Kaidan waits a moment, not bothering to hide his smile. “My turn? I was born in _Vancouver_.”  
          Shepard looks back over her shoulder at him. “Well, well. Alenko’s from the mother planet.”  
          He grins openly now, and raises both arms melodramatically. “Everyone! Be sure to allocate the proper amount of respect.”  
          “I was just talking with Urdnot, Lieutenant,” Shepard says. “He’s from Tuchanka.”  
          “Yeah,” Wrex says, nodding his massive plated head. “Share the respect, boy.”  
          “Keep sharing. I’m from Palaven,” Garrus says.  
          “But I – I am from Thessia…” Liara adds.  
          “This is a lot of sharing,” Kaidan says.  
          “Wow, really?” Joker keeps working at the control panel. “Commander, Ash, Tali and I are the only colony brats?” He thinks for a second. “Oh. Well, I guess that makes us even. And we’ve got Shepard, so we’re the cool kids.”  
          “That’s enough bragging about who had the foresight to be born where,” Shepard says, but she doesn’t hide the amusement in her voice. “I’ve got an assignment from the Alliance, and two of you comics are coming down with me.”  
          “There’s a state of the art training facility on Earth’s moon, Luna. Admiral Hackett suspects sabotage, but regardless, the VI in charge of the automated weapons has gone rogue. I’m going down there to disable it. The Alliance wants as much of it unharmed as possible.”  
          “We’re going to an Alliance station. Are… any of us allowed? Er… non-Alliance?” Tali asks.  
          “Hackett explicitly said he didn’t care who goes down with me. They only want it done.”  
          “Then I’d like to go. If it’s tech and VI problems, I could really help out.”  
          “Thank you, Tali.” _Alenko’s biotics would be a big help, too._ “We’ll bring the Normandy in under stealth mode and –”  
          “Ma’am. I’m coming too.”  
          “Williams? Is that so?” Shepard feels her own shoulders start to tense up. Ashley’s face is stone as she watches Earth, and she offers no further comment. _That sounds awfully close to insubordination, Williams._ “You feel that confident going on this one?” _I mean, I just invited an alien along. Not even a Citadel race, at that._  
          “Yes ma’am. You’ll… need all the help you can get.”  
          From behind Ashley, Kaidan once again catches his commander’s eye. Then, despite the cramped conditions, Alenko stands and offers a boyishly handsome grin. “Zorah and Williams, huh, Commander? Having a girls’ night out?”  
          “Right. Girls’ night out. With explosions. It’ll be fun.”  
          Her tone says it all. _This won’t be fun at all._

 

          ”Some girls’ night out!” Ashley’s voice is shrill through the hardsuit helmet’s comm.  
          The facility’s interior is narrowed through the visor plate of Shepard’s helmet, but the entrance to the VI core is visible at the other side of the room. Right now, that path is suicide by the grenades and rockets being lobbed by the various automated turrets and mortars attempting to track them past their cover.  
          “I said there would be explosions,” Shepard replies tersely as she opens her omni-tool in another attempt to sabotage at least one of the turrets. It takes too long for her liking – these are Alliance equipment, and won’t be hacked easily. “Kind of reminds me of N-training.”  
          The training facility is a wide room with deliberate cover interspersed throughout. It’s supposed to be an obstacle course of sorts, with the VI’s turrets serving both as allies and adversaries.  
           _Only now it’s all foe and no friend._ Shepard lines up a shot over the barricade and fires. The turret shatters in a spray of sparks, but poking out of cover allows two more to fire on her. Another turret starts to shudder and spark, and turns its wide barrel to fire a rocket at another hanging from the roof.  
          Wha? Hacked? Nearby, Tali nods in satisfaction. “Got it, Commander. That one’s ours.”  
          “Not for long. Good job, though, Tali.” _Well, she hacked an Alliance weapon. I don’t know if I should be impressed or intimidated._ True to Shepard’s concern, the VI senses the change in its code and several turrets turn to destroy the converted weapon.  
          “We’re not making any headway!” Ashley drops another turret, but she’s right – destroying the automations is slow and dangerous, exposing them to fire from the other weapons.  
          “If we reach that VI core, we’ll be done,” Shepard says, half to herself. “All these will shut down. But we can’t reach it until we destroy them in the first place…” As she reloads the thermal clip into the sniper rifle, Shepard watches Tali peek up over the edge of the barricade, getting in several shots from her pistol. The surrounding turrets are slow to turn as she rises. _A quarian. In an enviro-suit…_  
          It hits Shepard like a brick.  
          “Guys. The VI tracks by heat sensors. We’re getting enough of a delay because of our hardsuits.” The two squadmates look to her in surprise as the plan starts to formulate. “They start tracking the first thing that pops up, but the suits display our temperatures low enough that we’ll get some latency. If two of us act as bait, we can get the third person some breathing room to make it across the training ground.”  
          “I’ll go,” Tali says before Shepard’s even done speaking. “My suit regulates my own temperature more closely than combat hardsuits. If one of them by chance starts to track me, I’ll have more time to – ”  
          “No.” Ashley says. “I’ll go. Or the Commander. Not you.”  
          “Ashley.” Shepard begins.  
          “I’ll be fine, Chief Williams.” Tali completely misunderstands Ashley’s intent. “And besides, you and Shepard are better shots than I am. You’ll both provide better cover than I would.” Without waiting for protest she looks to the two humans and nods, wide eyes just barely visible from behind her helmet’s visor. Then she darts out from behind cover and begins her mad dash.  
          “Damn!” Shepard stands fully out of cover, scrambling for her pistol for faster fire.  
          “Ma’am! Stop her!” Ashley still hesitates, watching the quarian dart back and forth between barricades.  
          “It’s already done, Williams!” Shepard dives back down just as two rockets reach her hiding spot. “Give her cover fire, dammit! Don’t argue!”  
          Finally Ashley starts her reluctant counterattack. Shepard presses forwards, moving recklessly between barricades. The more she’s out of cover, the more turrets the VI sends after her. Another volley of rockets sends her into hiding – but it’s another volley of rockets that won’t be sent after Tali.  
          Emptying the rest of her thermal clip on a nearby turret, Shepard waits for more incoming rockets before taking cover again before reloading her pistol. Behind her, a little off to her left, the continual fire of Ashley’s rifle sounds out, signaling the other half of the assault. There’s no sign of Tali.  
          “Tali?” Shepard stands again, almost catching a rocket head on. The explosion shudders the barricade she’s behind as she hits the ground. “You doing ok?”  
          “I’m – fine!” Tali gasps through the comm. “A few – close –calls. Almost – there.”  
          As Shepard reaches a new vantage point of cover, she catches a glimpse of the girl, very close to the VI nodes. “You’re doing great, Tali. Don’t get hasty.”  
          “I’ve got – it, Commander.” Tali waits behind a barricade, visibly panting. Then she raises herself up and makes a run for it, reaching the VI nodes. Instead of firing on it with her pistol, Tali issues commands through its manual keypad, then begins typing something furiously on her omni-tool.  
          “Commander, what’s she-?” Ashley destroys another turret but doesn’t duck back into cover, instead watching the quarian girl at her work. “What are you accessing?! Stop!”  
          “Tali, just shoot the damn thing!” Shepard shares the frustration, if not for the same reason. “You’re going to get blown up! Just shoot it!”  
          Two turrets swivel around to lock on, and Shepard stands to draw the fire. They do not turn, but align themselves towards where Tali is standing, right out in the open. _They’ve already locked on._  
          “Tali! Move!” The girl doesn’t even glance up; just continues typing furiously.  
           _Well. Time for plan B._  
          Shepard charges across the course, vaulting over the barricades and rolling behind partitions. Thankfully, the sound of gunfire assures her that she’s getting some cover fire courtesy of Ashley. Just as she reaches Tali, a turret fires right before powering down. Throwing her pistol aside, Shepard tackles Tali head on, dragging her behind a barrier to shield them from the blast.  
          The barrels of the other turrets slowly drop, and a deafening static blasts over their comms. The HUD over their helmets displays a series of zeroes and ones, which repeat for a few frantic seconds before abruptly disappearing.  
          “You… you did it…” Shepard says, panting. Tali is invisible in the blind spots of Shepard’s hardsuit helmet.  
          “Help,” Tali says in a quiet voice.  
          “What?” Shepard pulls herself up, helping the quarian to her feet as well. “Are you hurt? Tali?”  
          “No, not me, Shepard,” Tali says, giving her suit a quick check-over. “That binary message on our HUDs. You saw it, right? It said, ‘Help’.”  
          Shepard freezes, staring at her. _Not an AI, huh?_ A chill traces down her spine. Tali has to realize it too – she’s a damned quarian, after all – but she says nothing.  
          Ashley bounds over, still holding up her rifle. “What the hell did you do that for?! What – what were you trying to pull?”  
          “Trying to pull?” Tali sounds honestly confused. She motions to the now-dark VI core. “I was… trying to shut it down. Like we came here to do.”  
          “Shut it down?! You should’ve just shot it! Trying to hack through it like that was dangerous. It was stupid!” Ashley cuts off, looking to the VI core, then back to Tali. “Why would you even think to try that!?”  
          “The Commander said that Admiral Hackett wanted to save as much of the facility as possible,” Tali begins uncertainly. “I wouldn’t have tried a manual override if I didn’t think I could do it.”  
          “But why, though?!” Ashley says. “You risked your life – for what? The Alliance?”  
          “Why not? I asked to come with you. I couldn’t just sit by when someone was in trouble. I’m here to help… Like the Commander always does…”  
          Ashley watches Tali with a bewildered air. “Let’s get back to the ship,” she says, turning and stalking back to the exit. “We’re done here, right?”  
          “Did I... do something wrong?” Tali looks to Shepard. Her face is hidden, but the anxiousness is palpable.  
          “You did beautifully, Tali,” Shepard says, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I will agree with Williams that it was a very dangerous thing to do. But you pulled it off, and I won’t say no after the job’s done. I really owe you one. The Alliance owes you one.”  
          “Then… when we get back to the Normandy…” Tali wrings her hands as she allows herself to be lead away. “Can I see… your Star of Terra?”  
          Shepard can’t help but laugh. “You’ve got a deal.”

 

          Yet again Shepard finds herself in the comm room, typing out her report to the Alliance on a side terminal. It seems as of late she’s spent more time in here than anywhere else on the Normandy – giving briefings or debriefings, compiling reports, conducting meetings. _Another perk of being acting captain, I guess._ She loses her train of thought and has to go back a few sentences to pick it up again, resting her chin in her open hand.  
          “Er… Commander?” A synthesized voice breaks her out of her concentration. Shepard straightens and looks to the doorway of the room. Tali peeks around the edge, watching Shepard almost skittishly. “Can I speak with you a moment? If you don’t mind? If you’re not busy?”  
          “Sure.” She motions to a chair at the terminal next to hers. “Have a seat.”  
          Tali enters and settles herself into the seat. She gives the report a passing glance. “I know you’re probably busy, but I wanted… to apologize. And I wanted to ask – if you would talk to Chief Williams.”  
          Shepard’s stomach drops. “Apologize? What happened?”  
          “You know… before the mission.” Tali swings her feet a little under the chair, making her seem even younger than she really is. “I asked who of your Alliance crew had been to Earth. I guess it’s just important to me, since my people don’t have their home planet any longer.”  
          “And? What does that have to do with Williams?”  
          “I _forgot_. I forgot that practically every other race feels differently about colony-born. We don’t have that in the Migrant Fleet, so… You and Joker and Williams all had to admit you were colony born in front of _everyone_ , and Chief Williams didn’t seem very happy about it.”  
          “You mean on the Luna Mission,” Shepard realizes. Tali could pick up Ashley’s aggravation but not the reason why.  
          “I found her in the crew quarters, and I tried to talk to her, but… she asked me to leave. I think she’s pretty mad.”  
          “Tali…” _How to phrase this diplomatically…?_ “Chief Williams wasn’t angry about the colony-born thing. That’s something that exists, sure, but… all the crew here are good people, and I don’t think that they actually believe that being from their home planet makes them better-bred than people like us.” _At least, I sure as hell hope not…_  
          The sentiment is actually deeply ingrained amongst upper-crust Earth-born elites, humans who have never once left the planet’s surface – and as such seeps out into the general spacefaring population as well. But as to how widespread it is among asari? Turians? Truthfully, Shepard has no idea.  
          “Ashley has… well, before this, she’s only served groundside on Alliance colonies,” Shepard goes on carefully. “The Normandy is her first starside post. It’s very different when you’re working with the Alliance, with other humans your whole life, and then moving into a post that’s regularly taking you into the heart of the Citadel. Take that, along with the whole Saren thing and – she’s still adjusting to everything.” Shepard can only hope Tali won’t take it too personally.  
          “Oh. I can understand that!” Tali says, nodding. She visibly relaxes. “I mean, it’s kind of the same for me. You know, I spent my whole life on the Flotilla, with only my own people. Going on this Pilgrimage has been very overwhelming. Williams is a good soldier, and she shouldn’t worry so much. We’re all here to help her, just like we’re here to help you, Commander.”  
          “I know, Tali. And I’m sure Williams knows too,” Shepard says. She sees her chance to change the subject and shamelessly takes it. “You really did help us out earlier. And now you’ve got another story to tell when you finish your Pilgrimage, right?”  
          “Egh. My Pilgrimage.” Tali leans back in the chair until her helmet rests against the back of it. “I still haven’t figured that out, Shepard. It might end up taking longer than I ever thought. If only I could just have a normal tribute…”  
          “Your Pilgrimage is different than usual?”  
          “I’m an Admiral’s daughter, an only child.”  
          There’s no further explanation offered. “So… you’re like quarian royalty?”  
          Tali laughs, waving her hands. “No, no, nothing like that! He’s an important person to the Migrant Fleet, so I’ll be expected to bring something significant. Quarians place a big value on family lines, so his influence applies to me, culturally if not by law. But it’s not like I’m going to inherit his position by default or anything.”  
          “So your dad’s the Admiral? What about your mom?”  
          “She was a celebrated engineer, before she – died. Five years ago. There was an epidemic through our sector of the Flotilla, and… well, it’s just another fact of life there.”  
           _You really should’ve known better than to ask that question._ “I’m sorry I brought it up. And I’m sorry for your loss.”  
          “No, it’s completely fine. I know… what happened to you, too, Commander. If anyone would know what that’s like, it would be you.”  
Shepard’s more touched by the words than she expected. “I’m sure she’d be proud of you. And your father will be too, when you come home.”  
          “Heh. We’ll see, I guess.” She pauses, looking to the floor, and uses her foot to gently spin the chair. In the dim silhouette behind the mask, her eyes close. “It’ll take a lot to please him. Probably more than any other quarian on the whole Migrant Fleet.”  
          “Huh.” Shepard drums her fingers against the desk. “Well… after all this is over, you can tell them all this stuff we’re learning about Saren. Tell them you helped save the galaxy.”  
          “I don’t know if that will work.” Tali halts the chair. “Er… oh, how do I say this…? Quarians are a… very insular group. They don’t really care much for things that happen outside the Flotilla.”  
          “Hmm.” Deep down, it’s a little frustrating to consider. _They should care. They’re a part of the galaxy whether they like it or not, and whether the Citadel likes it or not._ She pushes the feeling down. “Well, what would be something good then?”  
          “Something involving the geth is what I’ve always considered. Since they never go beyond the Perseus Veil cluster, we haven’t been able to study them for as long as I can remember. That’s why I took the memory core from that geth in the first place.”  
          “Oh. You mean the one with all the audio data about Saren.”  
          “Yes. It didn’t have much for my Pilgrimage. I’m glad it ended up helping you instead.”  
          “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Tali.”  
          “But it did. I know my people are very cloistered, but that doesn’t change my personal feelings. I’m glad to help you.” Tali stands and looks to the report displayed across Shepard’s screen. “Thank you for talking with me, Shepard. Don’t worry too much about my Pilgrimage. I’ll… figure something out. And please tell Ashley I hope she feels better.”  
          “I’ll talk to her, I promise.” She watches the quarian go, feeling pensive. _Just how am I supposed to solve this?_

 

          Ashley lies on one of the bunks, staring at the bunk above it. She doesn’t move as Shepard enters the room, who takes her time walking over and sitting down on the adjacent bunk. Even then the silence stretches on for a few good moments.  
          The doubt hasn’t left Shepard – this might not be something she can even fix. With a sting she wonders what Anderson would say – if anyone could work with this, it would be him. _Hell, he stopped my downward spiral. This should be easy._  
          “Ashley,” Shepard begins, but still Williams doesn’t look her way. “What… do you want me to do? To make this easier.”  
          Ashley’s face is impassive. “When we get back to the Citadel, have a drink with me.”  
           _I’ll play along._ “Sure. What’s the occasion?”  
          “By the time we get there, it’ll be the next SST day. It’ll be Armistice Day.”  
          “We’re going to celebrate the end of the First Contact War?”  
          “The very one, ma’am. Us against the turians. Our introduction to the galaxy – being attacked for no reason.”  
          “Williams.” Shepard keeps her voice flat. “We were trying to activate a dormant mass relay. That’s how the rachni found the Citadel during their war. It’s been against Citadel law for over a thousand years.”  
          “We didn’t know that.”  
          “Which is why the Hierarchy fighters fired warning shots.”  
          “Right, they just fired on us. We acted on it!”  
          “By attacking in full force and turning it into a battle.”  
          “And then they went to Shanxi! They attacked a human colony –”  
          “Which was when _they_ escalated it. Us and then them.”  
          “So, what?!” Ashley sits up and faces Shepard. “That’s all the First Contact War was? Two sides acting like assholes?!”  
          “Williams, sooner or later you’re going to see that’s usually all war is.”  
          The statement throws her for a loop. “Three months,” she finally says collapsing back on the bed. “They besieged Shanxi for three months. We held on for three months.”  
          This is a tellingly emotional reaction. Williams is young enough that she may not have even been born yet, but… “Did you lose someone in the war?”  
          Ashley swallows hard. “You really don’t know? It’s not in my file?”  
          “There’s nothing in your file but crap groundside assignments.”  
          “There’s a reason for that. I’m General Adam Williams’ granddaughter. The same Adam Williams put in charge of Shanxi.” She gives a bitter laugh and makes exaggerated air quotes. “You know, ‘the only human to ever surrender to an alien race’. He held out as long as he could! Turians only fight with total war – they were wiping out whole city blocks to flush out his troops. He couldn’t get supplies, couldn’t reach high command… he did what he had to, Commander. To save lives.”  
          Everything – every interaction, every comment – coming from Williams now makes perfect sense. _If there was anyone who’d go through life disliking aliens, it’d be Adam Williams’s blood._ He’d been disgraced, taken back to Earth as a prisoner of the Alliance. Even after the Council had stepped in and defused the situation, brokered the peace, General Williams had been quietly but forcibly discharged, practically exiled.  
          “He worked in construction on Sirona for the rest of his life,” Ashley says, right on cue. “And then my dad, idiot that he was, joined the Alliance. Knowing that our family’s basically blacklisted. Then I joined, idiot that I am. Right behind him. In for a life of crap groundside assignments and no rank higher than the one I have right now. The old Williams curse.”  
          “You’re not groundside any longer,” Shepard says. “So that’s half the curse broken.”  
          “But now that you know, you’re going to ship me off.” Ashley refuses to look her in the eye. “You want to know what you can do for me? Keep me on the Normandy.”  
          “Williams, I don’t care what your family did or didn’t do. You’re a good soldier. But if you want people to let go of what happened back then, you’ve got to do the same. And if you’re going to be serving under me, you’re serving with my crew. If you’re serving with my crew, you’re serving with aliens. If you can’t do that, then your place isn’t here. It will have nothing to do with the Williams’ curse.”  
          Ashley still says nothing, and the frustration rises in Shepard’s chest. _Guess I couldn’t fix it after all._ “And one last thing. Tali asked me to tell you; please feel better.” In one swift motion Shepard stands.  
          “Ma’am.” The tone in Ashley’s voice causes her to pause. She sits up again, looking to Shepard in disbelief. “Why did Tali tell you to say that?”  
          “She’s not stupid. She could see that you were angry with her on the Luna mission. She thought that it was because she brought up us being colony-born.”  
          “And what did you tell her?”  
           _She cares. She cares what I told Tali._ “I told her that you have only had groundside assignments with humans. And that you were having a hard time adjusting to life starside among a nonhuman crew.”  
          Ashley pauses, taking in the information. The unspoken message passes between them; _I didn’t tell her that you’re angry and mistrustful of the aliens on board. I didn’t mention the hunter and his dog._  
          “And then… she said that?”  
          “She did, Williams.”  
          Ashley’s gaze drops to the floor. “She… risked her life, Commander.”  
          “ _They’re all_ risking their lives,” Shepard says fiercely, still paused in the doorway. “They’ve all been fighting on the ground alongside me. I’ve trusted my life with them. Urdnot’s been gunning down his own people to help us. Vakarian left behind everything back on the Citadel to come along. Even Liara requested to help on groundside missions. She fought her own mother, Chief.”  
          Up until now, Shepard’s been hesitant to bring her along on an actual combat mission. But the assignment on Luna seems to have opened her eyes, if just a little bit. _I was wrong. This should’ve happened sooner, not later._  
          “This is your last warning, Williams. Any more insolence to the nonhumans, any more insubordination to _me_ , and your ass is getting transferred off this ship. I won’t have that conduct from one of my marines.”  
          “And what will you tell them, if I get shipped off?” Ashley tries to keep her voice nonchalant and almost succeeds.  
          “I’ll tell them the truth.” Shepard walks out the door.


	10. Thin Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy N7 day! And happy NaNoWriMo!
> 
> -I researched and stressed over gun dismantling and cleaning for one scene. Halfway through I realized that Mass Effect guns compact down and everything I learned wouldn't work anyways.   
> -I did the usual adjustments and fetch-quest cutting to smooth out the plot.  
> -I also changed the climate of Feros to something more... unique. Just because Therum was so hot and Noveria was so cold.
> 
> Um.. that's basically it!

          The wide room is stark white – mostly – and the walls and various tables and pedestals showcase various works of art. Mercenaries lie in crumpled heaps, staining the carpet and walls with various hues of blood.  
          Shepard picks her way past the bodies. They were hired as well-equipped guards; proof of their employer’s resources. The effort is mostly wasted – he lies dead alongside the rest of them. His features were decidedly more turian before the run-in with Wrex’s shotgun.  
          “Well? What are we here for?” Wrex stands in the middle of the room. “Everyone’s dead, Shepard. Let’s go.”  
          She ignores him, moving to a half-open doorway and peeking inside. A kitchen – no artifacts or works of art on display. Shepard backtracks and tries another door. A bedroom – more displays, looking even more extravagant than the front room.  
          Shepard enters and scans the area. It’s luxurious, but then again, the whole thing is luxurious. _The man has the money to live on his own property on an uncolonized planet. He ships everything in. Luxurious doesn’t begin to cover it._  
          The minor problem is that Shepard herself is unsure of what she is exactly looking for. So she stands in the middle of the room and stares dumbly at each new presentation. Sculptures and paintings, shields and breastplates and all kinds of blades…  
          “I’m sure the Commander has another reason for coming here,” Kaidan’s voice says from the lounge. “I think we’re looking for something.”  
          “Looking? Like, all this art stuff?” She hears Wrex’s footstep pad heavily on the carpet, and he pokes his head in the bedroom. “Shepard, the guys are dead! What are we here for -?”  
          The midsentence halt is all the proof she needs as Wrex enters the room. His attention focuses directly on an armor rack near the bed.  
          Kaiden enters, crossing his arms as he stands beside Shepard. The krogan takes a few more steps to stand before the display.  
          “You… clever little _pyjak_ ,” he says, reaching out and gently lifting the armor off the display. It’s obviously old, jagged metal plates with some kind of designs etched across it. “I told you not to bother. This wasn’t… worth our time. It’s shit for armor! Look at it!” Wrex holds out the armor to them – but he does so very carefully.  
          Shepard can’t hold back the smile. “Our time doing what? Heading back to the Citadel to cool our heels? While the Council does nothing and the Alliance scrambles for leads? I just ran the name you said by Anderson, and he ran some info back to me – Tonn Actus, a distributor for red sand between Omega, Ilium, and the Citadel. It’s in the interest of the Alliance to take down someone like that, right?”  
          “You can dance around it all you want, Shepard. This is… it’s not like it’s going to help us…”  
          “Wow. A sentimental krogan. It’s a touching sight,” Kaidan says.  
          “Shut up, kid. I’ll show you sentimental.” The words are half-hearted at best. Wrex looks back down to the battered breastplate, then looks back up to the Alliance soldiers. “Yet again, you’ve done something for me, Shepard. Unasked for, and without benefit to yourself.” He looks down to the ceremonial armor cradled in his hands, and nods once. “I won’t forget this, Shepard. You can count on that.”  
          “Any time, Wrex.” It’s heartwarming – he’s so obviously happy, but unsure of how to express it. _As long as he’s lived… and this is an unusual situation for him?_ It’s a heartbreaking thought, crashing her mood in a second. And it’s a far cry from being able to save his people. “At least I was able to do this much.”  
          Wrex watches her for a moment, and she’s sure – he knows what she’s thinking. “It was enough, Commander. If this damned useless thing was the only reason for coming down here, then the job’s done.”  
Shepard motions for them to follow, leading them out of the bloodstained domicile; back home to the Normandy.

 

          “There’s still no obvious signs or symptoms, Commander. Your scans are perfectly normal.” Doctor Chakwas displays a visual scan on the wide screen monitor in the med bay. “A slightly elevated heart rate, but that’s to be expected. You just returned from an assignment.”  
          “I… didn’t have any problems during that assignment.”  
          “But you said they’re getting worse?”  
          “Yes. And it’s not only the pain. They’re… more intense. More insistent. And I think you’re right – that they’re caused by stress.” _The two worst episodes – after the assignment with the girl from Mindoir, and then on Noveria, learning about the rachni. Stress is putting it lightly._  
          Chakwas nods. “I would normally advise you to refrain from stressful situations, Commander, but I doubt that it would be possible in our current circumstances.” She paces back to counter on the other side of the room and scrutinizes a medical chart. “Tell me, Commander; when these migraines happen, are there any other symptoms? Decreased ability to concentrate, lethargy, dizziness, neck pain, nausea?”  
          “…Yes.”  
          “To which, Commander?”  
          “All of them, sometimes.”  
          Chakwas looks back to Shepard. “Commander. These are all symptoms of one thing. I believe it’s possible – while experiencing these more intense visions, you are suffering from cerebral edema.”  
          “So…?”  
          “They are making your brain swell.” Chakwas says the words firmly. “As the visions finally subside, so too do the extraneous symptoms, with perhaps some lingering migraines as a prolonged affliction. That is why I have never found anything conclusive on your scans.”  
          “Can it… be treated?”  
          “In a hospital setting, yes. Diuretics, corticosteroids. But those procedures only work during the attack. As you are right now, they’ll do nothing. And they’ll be equally useless should you have an attack during a mission, away from the med bay.”  
          “So, then…” Shepard swallows. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”  
          The grandmotherly woman draws herself up. “There’s no telling how high the swelling is getting during these visions. At a certain level, the intracranial pressure can lead to seizures and coma. If it becomes too high, it will compress the respiratory center of the brain, and lead to respiratory arrest.”  
          Shepard forces her breathing to stay calm. Her first thought is; _wouldn’t that be fucking ironic, to trigger an attack right here in the med bay._ The second thought is; _I’m going to die._  
          “I will do everything in my power to prevent that, Shepard,” Chakwas responds. . “Perhaps it would be best if you relinquish ground command until this situation resolves.”  
          No. “It’s not… I don’t know that there’s anything that could be done,” Shepard says, dropping her voice. As Chief Medical Officer, Chakwas has the authority to declare her unfit for duty. The thought of staying on the Normandy, while some other squad is sent out to battle – it’s unthinkable. “And I’m the N7 marine. I’m the one leading them. If it’s… going to happen, I need to see to it that we’re as far as I can take us, before…”  
          Chakwas shakes her head, looking unconvinced. “I won’t get into a power play with you, Shepard. You’re only reporting symptoms at the moment, symptoms I can’t verify with scans or tests. But the second you lose consciousness, seize, or _anything_ of the like, and I’ll have an obligation to get you to the Citadel or an Alliance medical station.”  
          Shepard nods. The relief is palpable.  
          And so is the fear.

 

          The storage hold of the Normandy is blissfully dim and silent, save for the gentle ambient hum from the engines. Shepard sits at the weapon bench, staring at the half-assembled sniper rifle. Disassembling it and cleaning it – the familiar motions were supposed to be distracting. Instead, the lack of thought involved allowed her mind to wander – over the distinct possibility that sometime in the near future, she is going to die.  
           _I wonder if it will be quick. Quick like a bullet? Respiratory arrest. Seizures. Coma. In the midst of a vision. It’s definitely getting worse. So it’ll just keep going, until it finally…_  
          The rifle lays out in pieces across the table, illuminated by the overhead light. It needs to be reassembled, now – she needs to be ready. But she can’t – those tiny, repetitive motions – thoughtless action –  
           _Is there really no hope? What could I possibly do? Visions from a Prothean artifact…_  
          She doesn’t look up when she hears the footsteps, or when someone drags over a chair and sits a respectful distance away.  
          “Commander.”  
          “Vakarian.”  
          He nods to the gun on the bench. “Rifle maintenance?”  
          “I was. Just… lost interest, I guess.” _Stop being such a child. Finish the task._ She reaches forward and mechanically resumes her work.  
          “I’m guessing the mission on Tuntau was a success. Wrex has been jubilant since you got back. I’ve never seen a krogan so… _sociable._ ”  
          Shepard laughs, but it’s short. Hollow. “Easy mission. Good… use of our time.”  
          Garrus doesn’t respond as he watches her reassemble the rifle. _Does he know?_ It feels like the entire crew magically knows every moment she makes a trip to the med bay. Like everyone knew about the supposedly secret mission to Eden Prime. You just know things, being this close to each other for so long. Being a part of the crew.  
          The silence continues, and even with the presence of another person, the intrusive thoughts begin resurfacing.  
           _Talk to him about something. Anything –_  
          “Vakarian. You were an officer in C-Sec. You have any… memorable stories?” It’s pathetic. At least it’s something.  
          “Ah – sure.” He sounds bewildered but recovers quickly. “Um… How about the investigation into the salarian geneticist I was assigned to a few years back? Doctor Saleon was his name.” He clears his throat. “Ah, well… that was crazy, but it was also pretty… disturbing.”  
          “Let’s hear it. Please.”  
          “Well, let’s see.” He nods, watching her work. “I was following a trail of black market organs. I’m talking some heavy numbers; the C-Sec higher-ups were afraid someone was harvesting from the citizens again.”  
          “Again?” The next motions come easily to her. “Does this sort of thing happen often on the Citadel?”  
          “It’s not unheard of. With all the different species, having an organ surplus can be good business. Back when I first started, we’d busted an elcor diplomat harvesting from all kinds of people to sell.”  
          “An elcor?” She glances up, then back down. “You’re kidding.”  
          “Absolutely _not_ , Commander. Anyways, this case turned out to be very different. I managed to track the DNA from one of the recovered organs to a turian who was very alive and well, and definitely not missing his liver. But it was enough evidence for authorization to search this geneticist’s lab, but still nothing! No salarian hearts, no turian livers, not a single. Krogan. Testicle.”  
          Shepard barks a laugh, and she has to admit, it’s an honest one. It feels good. “Okay, Vakarian. Krogan testicles? Now I know you’re shitting me.”  
          “I swear I’m not, Commander.” He’s earnest enough, but he’s also obviously enjoying the retelling. It makes him even harder to read.           “That is actually a thing. At that time, they were going for ten grand a one, so that’s a whole forty thousand credits for a set – ”  
          He pauses almost melodramatically, and despite everything, her mood improves a little. “What? Your own joke finally get too ridiculous for you?”  
          “No, I… I just….” He shakes his head. “Someone’s making a killing out there, Commander. With all due respect, I think we’re in the wrong line of work.”  
          “Get back to your story, Officer, while my disbelief is suspended.”  
          “No disbelief necessary, ma’am. I’m telling you; it’s all true. We began calling in his employees, going through some interviews. They’re not telling us anything, and things are looking bleak, when – one of them just starts bleeding, bad, right there in the C-Sec station. We call a medic, and we find out he’s been operated on, repeatedly – and carelessly.”  
          Shepard looks up, distracted away from her rifle. “From the geneticist?”  
          “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.” Garrus leans forward and taps his gloved hand on the bench. “You see, they weren’t just his employees – they were his test subjects. Depending on the species, he’d grow specific organs in their bodies like live incubators. If it wasn’t growing right, he’d just leave it in; start on another organ, until they finally died.”  
          “But… why? Who would agree to that?”  
          “Money. Like always. They were all desperate, strapped for credits. He’d get a fortune for each, toss them a fraction of it. After the first organ or two starts failing, they’re stuck with him whether they like it or not – he’d keep them alive as long as he could keep growing organs, but once they’d outlived their usefulness; well, that was it.”  
          “But, you were on to him. You shut it down, right?”  
          Garrus clears his throat again. “The interrogations got back to him, and by the time we arrived back at his lab, he had already fled. He had two of his subjects as hostages, escaped to his private ship. Said that if we pursued him he’d kill them.”  
          Shepard completely disregards the reassembly project. “And?”  
          “And C-Sec tracked him as he left the Citadel airspace. Once he hit FTL we’d lose him, and they knew it. I ordered them to shoot it down – they’d let him board the damn ship in the first place. Executor Pallin belayed the order, said we couldn’t risk hurting the people he’d taken. I told them those people were going to die for certain if we let him go, and after that he would be free to just keep on with his operations.”  
          “What did Pallin say?”  
          “He… didn’t have to say anything, Shepard. The order was belayed. Saleon hit FTL and escaped. That’s the last I ever heard of him.” His mandibles twitch once and angle lower against his face. “That was the only other time I seriously considered leaving C-Sec. Before Saren, I mean. I just… maybe the hostages die, and maybe they don’t. But when they’re with him, there’s no helping them. And then there’s the other people he’s going to hurt, later. We owed it… to them too.”  
          “That’s a tough one, Vakarian. I mean, I’m sure they thought they could track him down later or something. It’s not an easy choice.”  
          “It’s not,” Garrus says. “But I was willing to make it.”  
          His tone, his demeanor – it’s harsh, to a point that is new to Shepard. She concentrates, tries to truly envision being in that situation – watching the ship reach minimum thruster distance, the quick flash of an engaging FTL drive.  
          “If it came down to it,” she begins very slowly, “I would have done it. I would have done everything in my power to stop it from getting to that point; diplomacy, hostage negotiations, infiltration – but if it’s down to it, letting him escape to Terminus space and disappear forever – I would’ve said the same thing. It’s the last choice… the terrible one.”  
          He relaxes visibly. “There’s no changing it now. I know that. But the crazy thing is, I still sometimes wonder what he’s up to. I’d look into it, from time to time – rumors of organ swapping or medical experiments from Terminus space. I only ever got back hearsay, or sometimes aliases; Galvani, Teneba, Heart. All of it, dead ends. But there’s no way he stopped what he was doing. And if he didn’t have to hide from C-Sec scrutiny, what else could he have gotten up to-?”  
          “Commander Shepard – wherever you are – report to the comm room. Captain Anderson’s patched through,” Joker announces through the Normandy’s PA. “Says it’s ‘of the utmost urgency’, and that’s a direct quote.”  
          Shepard glances to the ceiling, as if Joker can actually see her, and opens her personal comm. “Roger that, Joker. I’m on my way.”  
          “Shepard? Do you think he found something?” Garrus sounds hopeful, but Shepard doesn’t let herself get that far.  
           _Already made that mistake when I had the meeting with Hackett._ She stands. “Let’s hope so. I guess we’ll find out – Ah, crap.”  
          The sniper rifle still lies half-unassembled across the bench, left neglected between her own lethargy – _oh, right, the visions – getting worse until it finally kills me_ – and Garrus’ too-interesting story. For a second she stares at it, hesitant to go even with Anderson waiting. She can always come back later and finish it up…  
          “Go on. I’ve got it.” Garrus waves her on, scarcely pausing before reaching over and taking the gun.  
          “I – thank you.” She wants to protest. On a cognizant level she knows she’s being too proud, but she can’t stop thinking – _you’re an Alliance officer, why aren’t you acting like it?_ She starts for the elevator to the upper level. “Sorry for the trouble.”  
          “It’s no trouble at all, Commander.” He glances up. “Are we due for a briefing after your meeting?”  
          Shepard looks back over her shoulder but doesn’t slow down. “Safe to say yes.”  
          “Right then. I’ll gather everyone up after I’m done here.”  
          Now she does halt, right before the elevator. “Garrus. Thank you.”  
          “It’s my pleasure.” He inspects the gun carefully before locking the next piece into place. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Commander.”  
          The elevator doors open and Shepard steps inside. It feel strange to just leave it at that – leaving him with all this work. “Keep this up and you’ll be the one with the commander’s stripe.”  
          “Not likely,” Garrus laughs but doesn’t look up. “I can’t pull off red like you do.”

 

          “Shepard. You’re in for something huge.” Anderson uses a holographic representation, like the Council. The dark hue of his skin and officer’s uniform looks blue in the contrast of the display. “Hell, I’m not sure I should even be giving you this mission.”  
          Shepard stands up just a little straighter. “Does it involve Saren? That’s all I need.”  
          Anderson smiles, but it’s grim. “I don’t doubt it Shepard, but… dammit.” His shoulders sag, just a little bit. “A human colony has just sent out an SOS message to us. They’re being attacked. By geth.”  
          “I assume reinforcements are being sent?”  
          “Our nearest cruiser is still a couple of days out. What’s the Normandy’s status?”  
          “We’re in the Horsehead Nebula, at the refueling station. We stopped by a planet in the Argos Rho cluster, for that red sand dealer you looked up for me. That assignment was a success.”  
          The corner of his mouth quirks up into an almost-smile. He knows the other reason she asked about that. “Good to hear it worked out. And it looks like you’re still a day closer to this colony than the rest of our people. It’s on a planet called Feros, in the Attican Beta. It sounds like this is a full scale attack, Shepard. If you didn’t have that N7 designation, you wouldn’t be going without proper backup. Saren or no Saren.” He types something on his omni-tool; the hologram of the tool does not translate through the hologram of the comm. “I’m sending you the relevant information now.”  
          “You don’t have to worry, sir. We’ll go help them out. And figure out why the geth are there in first place.” But she can’t help but jump to that single conclusion – _Saren’s made his move._  
          “Watch yourself, Shepard. The SSV Perugia has been sent to the colony. If it looks too hot, don’t be afraid to wait for them to arrive before you begin operations.”  
          “Of course, sir.” That’s not going to happen. She knows it, and he knows it.  
          “Very good. Anything else before I send you off?”  
          I’d like to initiate transfer of Chief Williams. Can turians be nominated for Alliance Command? Lieutenant Alenko might be in for a sudden promotion soon. I’m going to die. “Nothing, sir.”  
          “Understood. Watch yourself down there, Shepard. Anderson out.”

 

          The comm room attendance is fully accounted for. As she enters Shepard says another silent word of thanks to Vakarian, who is sitting near the front of the room, and types in the commands on her omni-tool. Images from Anderson’s reports display across the large monitor, showcasing their next destination.  
          “We’re headed to an Alliance colony called Zhu’s Hope, on a planet called Feros,” Shepard says as she reaches the front of the room.  
          Liara makes a little noise, and Shepard looks up from her omni-tool. “Is this name known to you, Doctor?”  
          “Yes,” Liara says, busily looking over the images. “That planet. It is… blanketed by Prothean cities. Practically two-thirds of its surface are ruins, in various states of destruction. What little natural surface remains shows heavy forests. Most of the inhabited areas have a cooler climate, with heavy rainfall through a specific season of the planet year –”  
          “Prothean ruins?” Ashley’s voice sounds sharper than Shepard likes.  
          “Anderson’s report said as much.” Shepard says. “What’s your opinion, Doctor T’soni?”  
          “Er… Commander, if I may – the ruins there are extensive, but academically, they are spent. They’ve been picked over by generations of researchers. I could go so far as to say that their only draw is that they are so vast in the first place.”  
          “Huh.” Shepard crosses her arms. “Well, the colony is bankrolled by a corporation called ExoGeni. They specifically fund human colonies on new planets. Their perk is a claim to profits for any resources found while establishing the colony.”  
          “Meaning… they’re there for Prothean tech,” Kaidan says, furrowing his brow. “They have to be. Miss T’soni just said most of the world is covered in these ruins. It can’t be natural resources.”  
          “I realize that is what it indeed looks like,” Liara says, holding up her hands. “But I will state again that there is nothing there to find. I say that with utmost confidence as a Prothean researcher.”  
          “What’s the point of this little field trip?” Wrex asks loudly from the back.  
          “The colony is under attack from the geth,” Shepard answers. “The Alliance has sent the SSV Perugia to repel them, but they’re almost a day behind us.”  
          “We going down by ourselves?” Ashley asks.  
          “That is my plan, Chief. By the time the Perugia gets here, the colony could be gone. And if Saren’s tied to these geth, then we need answers ASAP.” She shrugs. “That’s more or less all we have. Human colony, geth attack, Alliance counterattack.”  
          “No inhospitable conditions or shady corporate intrigue this time?” Garrus asks.  
          “I’m sure there’s still plenty of time for both, Vakarian. But going in, this looks pretty simple. Aside from the whole geth thing.”  
          “Speaking of the geth…” Tali begins, leaning forward in her chair. “Who are you taking with you groundside?”  
          It’s obvious who she’s implying should go. “Tali, this is the definition of hot zone. It’s a big enough attack they’re sending in the Perugia – an Alliance cruiser. This is going to get messy.”  
          “But the attack is still geth, Commander. I’ve spent my whole life learning how to fight and disable geth. There’s other tricks than just shooting them and calling it a day, you know. Besides, if they are the key to finding out more about Saren, you’ll need someone who knows how to deal with them, correct?”  
          She’s got a point - playing on the usefulness thing. _Dammit, Tali._ “I’ve said my piece, and I won’t deny you’d be very useful on this one. If you’ve made your decision, I won’t argue it. As long as you acknowledge what you’re getting into.” _Wow, I sound like Anderson._  
          “I do, Commander. I’ll go get my gear ready.” She doesn’t even wait for a response before she bounds out of the room.  
          “Everyone else, dismissed. I’ll announce who else is coming along into the war zone before we get there.” Shepard strides back out, backtracking back to the elevator to return to the armory, check her hardsuit specs and her handgun.  
          Anderson’s message has left its effect, even if Shepard knows she won’t be following his advice. There’s no veneer here. _Just a warzone, with no strings attached._ And she’s taking Tali? _A quarian, who hasn’t even completed her own coming-of-age Pilgrimage._ But she’d offered the same chance to Liara before, who is just as young by her own people’s standards.  
          But who else to take? That was the crux of the matter. _I could very easily drop dead on this next mission. Leaving the combat-inexperienced quarian girl on her own in a human colony surrounded by geth._  
          Shepard boards the elevator, crossing her arms. Liara was out – she was about the same experience level as Tali. Wrex would be questionable to set loose among something like an established human colony. Ashley was definitely out – a stellar soldier, but still not much in working with aliens. Kaidan was a good choice – but with migraines of his own… But who did that leave? Vakarian? _Military experience, knows how to work with others… Right, just rely on him some more. Great job, Commander._  
          The gear lockers line the wall along the armory section of the cargo bay. On the nearby weapon bench, her sniper rifle sits fully assembled and ready. For a few seconds she just stares. Picking it up, she gives it a quick look over – it’s impeccably done. It shouldn’t surprise her so much - he’s a trained sharpshooter, too.  
          She hesitates for a moment longer, then opens her personal comm before she can change her mind. It beeps once.  
          “Commander? Something up?” Garrus’ voice answers in her ear. “Did I screw up your rifle?”  
          “Vakarian. You’re coming on this one, too.” There. It’s done. _Your pride doesn’t come before the good of the mission._  
          “Sure, Commander. I’ll be ready by the time we hit the mass relay.”  
          She almost says it: Hey, if I drop dead in the middle of this, you’ll be in charge. Just throwing that out there. “I’ve… been leaning on you a lot lately. I’m sorry.”  
          “It’s no problem, Commander. I’m here to help. You only need to give the word.”  
          “Thanks, Vakarian. Shepard out.”  
          Sighing, she opens her weapons locker and retrieves her handgun, and begins the disassembly.

 

          A thrill rises up in Shepard’s chest as she makes her way past the CIC, to the helm. The heart of the Normandy is a flurry of controlled chaos; after exiting the mass relay in the Hercules system, it seemed like a very short few hours to the next system over, where Feros awaits them. The noncombat crew knows full well what comes next – they are going into an active war zone, and their activity reflects that. Personnel dart and dance around Shepard and each other as they pass between monitors and workstations and datafeeds.  
          The hardsuit she wears increases the weight of her footsteps as Shepard passes into the helm. Joker glances up, gives a little wave, but doesn’t speak. The crackle from the speaker announces that he’s opened a channel between the Normandy and Feros ground control.  
          “ExoGeni HQ, Zhu’s Hope colonial affairs, this is the SSV Normandy. Exogeni HQ, Zhu’s Hope colonial affairs, or any civilian channels, please respond.” Only static answers. Joker glances back to Shepard, eyes widening. He clears his throat. “ExoGeni Corporation, this is the Alliance frigate SSV Normandy. Please respond.”  
          The Normandy begins to lower into the planet’s atmosphere. Dark clouds obscure the planet’s surface below them, and every so often, a thin spike spears upwards past the clouds. “The hell?” Joker mutters before opening the channel one last time. “ExoGeni, Zhu’s Hope, civilians. Anyone receiving this message, please respond.”  
          Shepard strides forward to stand beside his pilot’s chair. “Skyscrapers, from the Prothean ruins.” In the distance, one of them has defined structures built across the top of it, of clear un-Prothean make. Long trails of smoke bloom away from it. “That’s the ExoGeni headquarters – they built it way up there. Zhu’s Hope is on the ground right below it. Take us down there.”  
          Joker swallows heavily as he guides the Normandy to its descent. “There’s no answer from anyone,” he says. “Ma’am, what do we do?”  
          The hiss of static fills the silence. “We’re going in. We either can’t afford to wait for the Perugia, or we’re too late and the Perugia’s not going to help.”  
          “Aye aye, Ma’am,” Joker says, sitting up and straightening his cap. “Let’s get her landed.”  
          Beneath the cloud cover, a torrential rain blankets everything in dark contrast to the serenity above. Shepard makes a noise in her throat – _of course it can’t just be a geth attack, it has to be a geth attack in the rain_. Despite the inclement conditions, Joker takes the Normandy low over the colony, past the jagged dark outlines of the ruined Prothean megalopolis. It’s too dark and obscured to see any signs of life below them.  
          “No sign of any other ships,” Joker mutters, half to himself. “Geth or human. No SOS hails or geth chatter. Ah – hold on –” he presses a few buttons. “Got an automated tracker for spaceport landings. Heading in.”  
          “I guess if there are any geth ships left, they’re all on the ground. Or they might be jamming all the outward signals all to hell,” Shepard says. “What’s the status of the ship’s kinetic barrier? Our stealth system’s keeping us in the clear up here, but I don’t want any surprise attacks as we land.”  
          “Barriers are at full strength, ma’am. We’ll keep it going hot until we’re safe and landed, and ground crew is deployed.” Joker answers conversationally for the maneuvers he’s pulling. Then the Normandy slows a bit and begins to lower.  
          The Zhu’s Hope spaceport is nothing more than four walls of a Prothean ruin, big enough for the Normandy and little else. “Damn. This place has standard gravity for a cruiser to land, but the real question is, do they have any room?” Joker says.  
          Shepard stares blankly at the curtain of rain down the Normandy’s cockpit windows. “Joker, open the PA for me.” She steps forward and addresses the ship.  
          “This is Commander Shepard. Alenko, T’soni, Williams, and Urdnot. You are the secondary ground team; your assignment is to defend the Nomandy while primary ground team is away. I don’t want some geth squad getting ideas and coming back to get the jump on us. Alenko is your acting commander until I get back. In the case of the Perugia’s arrival, he is the contact on behalf of the Normandy. Primary ground team, meet at the airlock.”  
          Joker closes the comm and gives her an exaggerated thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Commander. I’ll just stay here, and... listen to the sound of the rain.”

 

          The scenery is just as dark and cloudy outside as it was inside the Normandy; the jagged cityscape and pouring rains completely break the horizon. The weather necessitates their hardsuit helmets – save for Tali, of course, who wears her suit as a daily requirement.  
          The three of them sprint across the short distance of open terrain, out of the enclosed space and towards the colony proper. The city around them is massive, but most of the buildings are broken past any sort of usefulness. The onslaught of mud and rain has stained everything a murky brown, a far cry from the antiseptic white of the other Prothean ruins.  
          Groundcars, floodlights, and scaffolds show signs of the colony’s presence, leading the way to the human settlement squatting in the dead city. Other than the fragments of familiar technology, there is no other sign of life – no bodies, no remnants of battle, nothing.  
          In the shadows cast by a flickering floodlight, Shepard sees some movement in a half-crumbled building, behind a curtain of rain – but then it disappears. Just a trick of the light, maybe –  
          “Commander. There’s thermal readings coming from over there.” Garrus is already moving towards where she watches. How does he know – _oh, the Kuwashi visor. Best toy for sharpshooters._ She follows him, drawing her handgun. _I gotta get me one of those._  
          “Stop! Freeze!” Shepard storms into the deteriorating structure, scanning for targets.  
          A young man – early twenties as his oldest – hunches doubled-over at the far corner of the hollow, huddled against the rubble blocking the rest of the room. “Don’t shoot…” he wheezes, then gives a harsh laugh. “Don’t shoot me… Alliance lady…” he dissolves into shaky laughter.  
          “You’re a colonist?” She doesn’t lower her gun.  
          He glances up – he’s got a square jaw, heavyset body. “More or less, you know? Ian Newstead, out here where I shouldn’t be…” He jumps, almost falling over in the motion, and groans through clenched teeth. “Shouldn’t be talking to you either, Alliance lady. Ohh… that was a good one, huh?”  
          Garrus and Tali keep their weapons trained on him, following her lead. Shepard keeps her gun at the ready, but softens her voice. “What are you doing out here?”  
          “Invoking-the-master’s-whip-“ he groans, doubling over again. “Running through… the thorn bush…” He cries out and jolts again. “You’re here for the geth. Join the club. They’re a real thorn in the side of the – ” the words dissolve into agonized groans.  
          “Commander, I… I don’t think he’s well,” Tali says softly. She adjusts her footing, adjusts her grip on her pistol. “He’s not making any sense.”  
          “More right than you know…” he rasps, slowly falling to his knees. “No one can help us now, you know? If I’m going to go down, I’ll go down fighting.”  
          “The geth destroyed the colony? Are you the only survivor?”  
          He laughs mirthlessly. “Keep going, Alliance lady. The colony’s a little futher down.” His body jerks again, dragging him through the muck on the ground. His hands clasp over his mouth. Outside, the faint sound of gunfire fades into earshot – both the sounds of the geth’s signature pulse weapons, and the snap of thermal clip fire. Ian gives another shrill laugh. “Better go. G-good luck, Alliance lady…”  
          Shepard breaks into a run, dodging past the crumbling ruins and pounding through the mud. The path amid the buildings narrows into a staircase up the side of a building, and at the top –  
          The crumbling stairwell ends in a ruined heap, revealing the firefight about a level below them. To the left, a handful of geth stay in cover behind some concrete dividers, laid out to mark the edge of the colony. To the right, a series of collapsed buildings and more dividers protect a handful of defenders. They are obscured by the rain, but the context is clear enough – there are at least some survivors.  
          Shepard stays in cover behind the walls of the Prothean stairwell, firing down on the geth with her handgun. Garrus covers the pauses in her shots with fire from his assault rifle, keeping the geth pressed down into cover. The height and angle should be a serious advantage, but the rain almost negates that completely.  
Shepard misses a few more times than she likes admitting. Exhaling sharply, she dispenses a tech grenade from her suit and tosses it towards the pale synthetic shapes. “Frag out!”  
          Her team wisely ducks back behind the cover of the stairwell, and as she crouches Shepard sees the colonists hunker behind their cover. _Good job, guys. Give ‘em hell._ She loads the next thermal clip as the detonation sounds the all-clear. The gunfire resumes on the remaining geth.  
          Tali types furiously types something into her omni-tool, and several of the geth shudder and freeze. They crumble to the ground, stiff and unmoving like statues. “Commander! I’ve only disabled them for a short time!” Tali keeps on typing. “Take them down as soon as you can!”  
          “Holy crap,” Shepard mutters as she takes some potshots at the geth paralyzed on the ground. She’s hacking geth… The colonists take the openings as well, opening fire on those that fell outside cover. Tali joins in, using her own pistol to hew down their numbers until finally the battle is decided.  
          “I thought geth were unhackable,” Shepard says, holstering her pistol.  
          “They are. Since they are all connected, a hacked geth with proofread its altered code to match that of the others. To hack one for good, you must hack them all simultaneously. All of them,” Tali says, following Shepard and Garrus as they pick their way down the rubble to the colony’s level. “However, for that short moment before they copy back the original code, they can be hacked as any other machine.”  
          “…Good to know,” Shepard says as she leads the way. It’s not something a member of Citadel space would know. Knowledge about the geth remains basically nonexistent due to the Council’s laws against interacting with the geth or even approaching the Perseus Veil system of the galaxy.  
          The figures behind the cover stand where they are, watching the squad approach with a wary air. Shepard understands; they’ve been struggling against geth; a foreign, literally faceless enemy. Men and women, side by side, fighting with basic handguns. Did they even know what provoked the attack?  
          The rain continues without abate as she reaches them. They’re in standard clothes, practically the stereotype of a human colonist – made of synthetic fabrics designed to wick away moisture, form-fitting body vests for thermoregulation, water resistant outer jackets. The drab brown and grays signal that they’re standard issue from the colony sponsor.  
           _Damn. I remember way too much about this stuff._  
          They stand openly in the rain, letting the water fall over them with no reaction. They remain equally unresponsive as Shepard and her squad close in. She offers plenty of time for someone to speak, but even after her pause none of the group addresses her.  
          “I’m Commander Claire Shepard of the SSV Normandy,” she begins, all firm professionalism. “We’re here answering your distress call.”  
          “ExoGeni sent the distress call,” a woman says, watching the squad like a pack of stray dogs. It sounds vaguely accusatory.  
          “Yes, they did,” Shepard answers.  
          “You’re Alliance,” another man states.  
          “Yes, I am,” Shepard restates patiently. “As I said, I’m Commander Shepard, and I’m here because of the geth. Can you tell me how the attack started?”  
          They freeze. “You should… talk to Fai Dan,” someone says.  
          “Fai Dan? Is he the colonial affairs representative?”  
          “Yes. He’s the leader. Talk to Fai Dan.”  
          “Do you know why the geth are attacking? Is there anyone from ExoGeni here in the settlement?”  
          None of them look her in the eye. “Talk to Fai Dan,” someone offers.

 

          “These poor people. They are brave to fight, but the geth are relentless. Are… they okay?” Tali asks as they make their way through the colony. There’s little risk of being overheard – _we’re being avoided like a krogan at a cocktail party._ People move about with a mechanical air, fortifying the perimeter or moving supplies or tending to the wounded. There’s emotion – fear and exhaustion and frustration – but it’s muted, as if it behooves them to hide it.  
          “They’re civilians, fighting the geth. I suppose it’s natural for them to be a little shocked,” Garrus says. “I imagined they would be a little more… relieved to see us, though.”  
          “Sometimes, there’s… friction… between outer colonies and the Alliance,” Shepard says, scanning over the drenched camp. Prefab houses lie in structured rows, established in sections among the Prothean ruins. “When things like this happen, it can take the Alliance time to respond, this far out. Sometimes, it can make you feel… discarded.” Shepard’s not sure who she’s speaking as – the Alliance commander trying to save a colony she rushed to defend – or a sixteen-year-old girl, stumbling into the camp of Alliance soldiers that surely rushed just the same but arrived too late.  
          In the middle of the camp is a large ruined Prothean structure. Large piles of rubble have been cleared away to make room for a single prefab, placed in over the ruined building’s base, seemingly without rhyme or reason. There is a construction crane nearby, surrounded by a handful of colonists, who gesture back and forth to it as they speak. The sound is muffled by the rain, but they motion to the prefab, then back to the crane.  
           _They… moved a prefab? Right on top of some ruin?_ All she can guess is that there must be some sort of advantage she’s not seeing. One of those standing near the crane notice the three passing and suddenly all of them fall still. Shepard studies them from behind the opaque visor of her helmet. What’s going on here?  
          At the northern edge of Zhu’s Hope, an older man stands in the eaves of a wide prefab building. A dark-skinned young woman stands next to him, dressed in a combat hardsuit. She’s the only one thus far that looks trained in combat. She speaks angrily to the man, who silences her with a quick motion as he notices Shepard.  
          “Alliance. I figured it’d take you longer to get here,” he says wearily as Shepard and her squad reach them.  
          “I’m not sure anything else could go wrong,” the soldier adds under her breath.  
          Shepard gives her a look – it almost sounds as if the timely arrival is unwelcome. She turns back to the man. “Fai Dan?”  
          “Yes. I am the colonial representative. This is Arcelia, our chief of security. ” He pauses to watche two colonists, carrying along a third through the rain. Although there seems to be no visible wounds, the man is moaning and weeping. “As you can see, the situation has vastly deteriorated. In any case, we are grateful for your help back there.”  
          Arcelia scowls. “It was a small attack. And they’ll be back in thirty minutes, tops. No matter how hard we fight, they always come back.”  
          “Why are they here?” Shepard crosses her arms. These are the chosen leaders of this colony – they should be jumping to cooperate with her.  
          “We have no idea,” Arcelia says, looking straight to Shepard’s visor. “They attacked the colony and the ExoGeni HQ, up on the skyway – both at once. We don’t even know how the admins up top are doing. But if you wanted answers, that’s where you need to go.”  
          “I didn’t come here thinking it would be easy,” Shepard replies. “Will your people be all right if we leave for the skyway?”  
          “We’ve lasted this long,” Fai Dan says, closing his eyes for a moment. “Although, with all the damage we’ve sustained, we might not last even if you repel the geth. We were already on thin ice as it was.”  
          A colony, on thin ice – “Was ExoGeni considering withdrawing Zhu’s Hope?”  
          “Unfortunately, yes. They bankroll colonies in exchange for resources, but there’s nothing of value here.”  
          Shepard frowns. “But ExoGeni would have approved the planet for colonization, correct? Why would they chose a planet if they didn’t predict a profit?”  
          Fai Dan clears his throat. “I guess we were just a bad bet, Commander. But I’ve got to get this place running again. We absolutely can’t leave.”  
          The force his last sentence carries – it gives Shepard pause. It’s not the picture of some paradise world. It’s dark, rainy, and covered in creepy ruins. “Even after all this, you’d still fight to stay?”  
          “What can I say, Commander?” Fai Dan says. “I guess there’s just something about this place.”  
          Shepard frowns. “Well, your immediate survival is the bigger concern. Was there a reason for moving that prefab to the middle of the camp?”  
          They stare back blankly. “The prefab?” Fai Dan flounders for a bit. “Oh. It was damaged in one of the first waves. We had to move it to reach the others. We just put it wherever, in the heat of the battle. It is proving very difficult to move after the fact.”  
          His voice is steady, but the answer fails to reassure. These people are covering something. What could occupy their attention in the midst of besieging synthetics?  
          Arcelia watches Shepard ruminate, uneasy in the silence. “Is that all, Commander?”  
          “There was a man in the ruins,” Garrus says suddenly. “Before we found the colony. He said his name was Ian Newstead.”  
          Both Fai Dan and Arcelia flinch. _Are they intimidated because he’s a turian?_ But Fai Dan recovers quickly. “He’s a… troubled young man. He never quite settled in to life on this colony.”  
          “There’s no way for you to help him?”  
          Fai Dan’s mouth sets to a thin line. “Ian refuses to take the… necessary measures to ensure his wellness. He chooses instead to wander outside the colony. We can do no more, sir.”  
          “Are you going to the HQ, or not?” Arcelia asks. “There’s nothing down here that can help you.”  
          For a second Shepard can only stare back at her. “Yes. We’re going to the skyway.”  
          Clearing his throat again, Fai Dan steps forward. “Commander Shepard, the elevator ExoGeni installed is right this way. Please, allow me to show you the way.”

 

          “There’s something going on here,” Shepard says as the wide elevator begins its long ascent. It’s poking at her like a stone in her boot. “All of the people seemed just as upset to see us as the geth. And just the way they were all… acting.”  
          “Commander. How likely is it that they’re hiding something on behalf of ExoGeni?” Garrus asks. “Some kind of foul play, like on Noveria?”  
          “That’s what it looks like, but… what kind of trouble could they get in to? ExoGeni is just a colony investor. They’re pretty straightforward as far as corporations go.” Shepard glances up to the elevator’s simple metal ceiling, willing it to go faster, but it continues its leisurely rise to the top of the tower. “They would have to have found something more groundbreaking than the standard minerals or farmland –”  
          It hits her like a punch to the face. She turns sharply to face Garrus. “Holy hell. You think they found some kind of Prothean tech?”  
          “Hiding Prothean tech from public knowledge is against Council law,” Tali says. “That was true even when my people were still welcomed to the Citadel.”  
          “It’s a heavy accusation, Commander,” Garrus says quickly. “I meant you no offense –”  
          “No. It makes sense. What else could they find, here?” The more Shepard thinks about it, the more it fits. If they could somehow market the tech found as their own, the profits could be immeasurable. “Why else would the geth – and _Saren_ – attack this place?”  
          “What’s even the punishment for such a thing?” Tali asks. “I can’t recall anything like that ever happening.”  
          “It’s never gotten that far. It’s one of the Citadel’s oldest laws; the asari themselves established it,” Garrus says. “Prothean discoveries are usually too big to be contained for long. Even rumors mean investigations, inspections, audits. When I was a kid there was a privately owned salarian dig suspected of it. When they resisted, the levies and sanctions threatened were staggering. I remember rumors that they might have their Council position suspended for it.”  
          Tali stiffens. “ _Keelah se’lai._ What came of it?”  
          “Nothing. If they had actually found something? I can’t even imagine.”  
          “In that case, I have even more of a duty to find out what’s going on,” Shepard says. “As both a Spectre and an Alliance officer.”  
          “Well, they seemed to want us gone from the colony,” Garrus says. “And they didn’t like all the questions, either.”  
          Shepard barks a laugh. “They haven’t gotten rid of us yet.” She raises her gaze to the cieling of the elevator - to the top of the tower, where the colony admins wait. _Prothen tech. It could be a game changer for Saren._  
           _Not if I get it first_


	11. Machine Rites for the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, aside from the general smoothing of plot points...
> 
> -I realize that there's a Paragon option to spare Ethan's life, but Shepard's dialogue with that option seems very un-paragon-like. Also, I like the idea of giving colony leadership to Shiala later. So, I decided to keep the normal "kill him option."
> 
> \- There's a part where you find some geth praying to an altar, but in the game it's given little to no comment. Expanded it to help lead to Reaper stuff later. 
> 
> \- Had one hell of a time explaining the disabling gas, seeing as it's kind of a hand-waving video game logic thing. Think I solved it okay.
> 
> And... I think that's basically it!

          The clouds nestle right beneath the wide skyway platform that connects the elevator to the Prothean tower. The structure fares better than the crumbling ruins below, a thankful fact given the height Shepard and her crew find themselves at.  
          Shepard slowly puts one foot before the other, as if the path could give at any moment. If their reluctant reactions are any indication, Garrus and Tali feel much the same way.  
          “These ruins look… different,” Garrus offers, eyeing the edge of the platform from where they walk. “From the Citadel, I mean.”  
          He’s right – even away from the mud and the rain, these buildings looks ashy; covered in gray-toned splotches. “Doctor T’soni did say that some Prothean ruins looked different from the others,” Shepard says. “Maybe Feros is one of those?”  
          “As long as this holds our weight, I don’t care who made them,” Tali mutters, pressing both arms around her body. “I think I’d rather have stayed on the ground and fought the geth.”  
          “Just a little farther. We’re almost to the tower.” The skyway flares out in a wide balcony around the ancient structure looming before them. The space is crisscrossed here and there with blunt concrete structures – blatant additions from the current human inhabitants. A few wholly recent add-ons are clustered on the skyway around the very base of the tower, looking worse for the wear. Even this close, there’s no outward sign of the geth. Save for one last thin plume of smoke still trailing from the tower, there’s no sign of anything wrong.  
          As they pass the handful of human structures erected along the pathway, the sound of shouting stops Shepard in her tracks. She halts, signaling her squad, but then her brain finishes processing the voices – it’s not danger, it’s fury. Arguments.  
          She rounds her way to one of the bigger human buildings, the farthest from the tower base. The shouts get louder, and –  
          The bare concrete room is filled with people. Their once-orderly uniforms are emblazoned with ExoGeni’s logos, marking them as administrators of the colony. Two of them stand near the center of the room in open heated argument. There are two guards near the door, but they silently stand down to Shepard even before she raises her hand in firm authority.  
          It’s a far cry from the planned lockdown on Noveria. From start to finish, this is a colony in over its head. _The geth attack, combined with whatever it is that they’ve discovered here._ With the intense argument taking center stage, the group of employees don’t even notice the squad for a good few seconds.  
          “Hey! Shut up, both of you.” The room as a whole startles at the sound of Shepard’s voice, sharp through her helmet’s speaker. “You’re lucky the geth haven’t found you like this.”  
          “Alliance. Thank God,” one of the arguers, a middle-aged woman with hair cut short, immediately relaxes her stance. She glares at her opponent. “Finally some good news.”  
          “Good news, huh?” The man turns to glare at Shepard. “We’ll see. Just how did the Alliance get here so fast? And what’s with the damned aliens?”  
          “I was nearby on other business. And you’re damn lucky I was,” Shepard says flatly. In one motion she removes her helmet – above the clouds means they’re out of the rain now. “The nearest backup besides us was a cruiser a few days out. I’m not sure you all would’ve lasted that long.”  
          Whispers rise in a whirlwind around them, and Shepard catches words here and there – _Mindoir – Alliance – Elysium - Citadel._ “Commander _Shepard?_ ” the woman says, taking a few steps towards her and offering her hand. “I can’t believe it. We’re honored for your help, ma’am. I’m Juliana Baynham. We’re all the ExoGeni employees, forced out of the building by the geth.”  
          Shepard shakes her hand, tucking her helmet under her other arm. “And you all holed up in here? With no supplies?” The room seems to house various construction tools for the human additions of the tower. A battered comm station sits in the corner. “There’s no geth pinning you here. Why haven’t you gone down to the colony? Consolidated your forces?”  
          “No! Absolutely not!” The man arguing with Juliana now turns on Shepard. “As the ExoGeni representative manager, my orders are the same! We stay here!”  
          A few employees standing near them bristle. “What the hell, Ethan?” one spits. “You said the colony was destroyed in the attack!”  
          “You said we had to stay here!”  
          “We just left them down there?!”  
          “ _We’re staying up here!_ ” Ethan shouts. “The... the main force of the geth is down there! There’s no way we’re going down!”  
          “Hey! Heyhey! Everybody calm down!” Shepard strides forward and raises an arm, between Ethan and the others. “The colonists are being attacked down there, but they’re holding up. I came up here to investigate at their suggestion.” She looks back to Ethan. For a split second, something flickers across his face – wide eyes, face pale. Then his complexion darkens back to anger.  
          It’s enough – _he’s afraid. He lied to keep them up here. He doesn’t want to go down to the surface, but… why?_ The geth are up here too. “Why are the geth attacking?” She keeps her voice respectful – pay him deference as the ExoGeni manager here.  
          “We don’t know, Commander. Why do the geth do anything? They’re just machines –” his eyes dart to Tali – “Right?”  
          Shepard’s eyes narrow. So much for the polite gestures. “But they haven’t attacked you once you left the tower?”  
          “We can’t be sure what they’re doing.”  
          “Oh, to hell with you, Ethan,” Juliana snaps. “Commander, the geth stormed the HQ in the tower, and they weren’t shy about killing people. But once they had us out of there, they didn’t seem to care what we did. We found the old comm station in this warehouse, and managed to get a distress signal sent out on Alliance channels before everything shut down. I think they have some kind of jammer set up in the tower. From this height, they could scramble half the planet. But that’s all they seem concerned about – holding their position in the tower. At least, the geth up here.”  
          “That would be why we didn’t hear anything over comm as we came in.” A flash of alarm spreads through Shepard like a sick heat. Looks like I was right. _The Normandy could be under attack right now and they wouldn’t be able to reach me. And it’s not like I can backtrack now._  
          “Then it’s decided. I’m going to that tower.” Shepard’s already donning the helmet back over her head, fastening it to the hardsuit. _Hope you’re taking care of it, Kaidan._ “As for you all, you should –”  
          “We are staying here, damn it!” Ethan spits, taking a step back and glaring at everyone in the room. “Commander, you can go play hero in the tower all you want, but there’s no way we’re going down to the surface. I refuse!”  
          The edges of fear reveal themselves again. “Fine. I’m not going to waste my time arguing,” Shepard says. “At the very least, the geth aren’t attacking you up here. I won’t be very long.” At least it means they’re not going anywhere.  
          “Commander Shepard.” Juliana clasps her hands together. “Please, go find out why the hell this is happening to us. And if you can… please try to find out what happened to my daughter. Her name’s Liz, and she was in a meeting when the geth attacked. I just need to know. I was about to go myself, but – ”  
          “They would have killed you. You can’t go back,” Ethan snaps.  
          “And I already said I don’t care! I need to know!” Juliana retorts, raising her voice with every word.  
           _Well, we know what they were arguing about._ Shepard holds out her hands again. “Stop fighting, damn it. The geth don’t even have to come find you if you kill each other before then. And if anything’s going to get done, then I should go.”  
          As they leave, it’s a struggle not to run the rest of the way to the tower’s entrance. _Remember, there are still geth in there. Calm down. Plan it out._ “So the geth up here are defending a comm jammer. They’ll kill humans if given the chance, but they don’t care enough to pursue them, hunt them down.”  
          “But the ones down below were most certainly attacking the people,” Tali says. Her breathing is clear in the audio of her voice as she works to keep pace with Shepard and Garrus.  
          “Not necessarily,” Garrus answers. “They were attacking the colony, but that’s not the same thing. We found that young man wandering the ruins, remember? He was acting ill, in no position to hide or defend himself. If they’re following the same orders as the squad up here, they’re only attacking the colony because it’s in the way of their true objective. Which is…?”  
          “And that’s the question of the day,” Shepard finishes. _Leave it to a turian to dissect war strategies._  
          The inside of the tower is the same ashy material, a clear contrast to the rough-cast concrete and metal beams. The human additions and debris built inside the massive building stand out with no apologies – it seems ExoGeni didn’t even try to integrate the newest additions, either structurally or aesthetically.  
          As they venture further inside, the disparity between Feros and Noveria is again apparent – ExoGeni deciding to build their HQ here despite the difficulties and setbacks. _The status of living in a Prothean skyscraper overrides common sense, I guess._ Noveria was unethical, but it was efficient. _As opposed to unethical and… inefficient?_  
          They turn up a stairwell to the next floor. There’s no sign of geth, no sign of anyone…  
          A shot cracks out, making the three of them dive for cover. Shepard’s heart pounds furiously as she whips out the pistol. “Vakarian! Zorah! Anybody hit!?”  
          “Oh shit! Shit! Sorry! I’m sorry!” A woman’s voice answers. “Sorry! I’m human! Sorry!”  
          Shepard pops her head up past her cover. A woman crouches down behind some concrete rubble in the corner of the room, wearing the same ExoGeni uniform as the clerks hiding in the bunker outside. Without hesitation she slowly picks her way down the wreckage. “Sorry I fired! I had the gun from the lockbox, and I was hiding. I thought you were geth, but I saw you weren’t, and I flinched, and it fired – ”  
           _Son of a bitch!_ The rush of fear sublimates to anger, but Shepard crushes it down. She does not, however, holster the pistol. After glancing back to check on her squad, she watches the woman approach, struggling with a rucksack slung across her back. “Are you the last survivor here?”  
          “I – I think so,” the woman says. “I stayed behind to – to grab this. I haven’t seen anyone else.”  
          “Neither have we,” Shepard answers. “Human or geth. There’s no hostiles outside either; but the remaining survivors are in one of the buildings outside on the skyway.”  
          “Survivors?!” She quickly closes the distance between herself and Shepard’s crew. “Did – was there anyone there by the name of Juliana? Juliana Baynham?”  
          “Yes. Are you Liz?” _Well, that was easy._ “You should go outside, reunite with your mother. The only geth up here are the ones in this tower.”  
          “If that’s the case, then there’s not many at all. It looks like they sent most of their force on the surface.” Liz shrugs. “I guess it makes sense…”  
          “Why?” A thrill flares up in Shepard’s chest. “You know what they’re after?”  
          Liz swallows, shifting her weight. “I think they’re looking for… It’s… We named it the Thorian. We found it right after the colony was established. It’s just a… kind of plant, indigenous and unique to Feros.”  
          “Why would… the geth be after a plant?” Tali asks. “Is there anything very special about it?”  
          “We’ve been studying it for a while. I’m not sure why the geth would want it.” Liz nods to Tali. “It’s only found on the planet’s surface. And it’s the only thing of note we’ve been able to find, even with all these ruins.”  
           _The only thing, huh?_ “Miss Baynham. Show me your bag.”  
          “Uh… sure.” She unslings the bag and opens it.  
          Inside, unlabeled cylindrical canisters are packed as tight as they can fit. Each one has a flip-top firing pin. Shepard crouches and uses her one free hand to nudge some aside, but the search only reveals more tins.  
          “Gas shells?” Garrus speaks what’s on Shepard’s mind as he watches from over her shoulder. “You stayed behind for this? Not exactly good weapons to use against synthetics, miss.”  
          “I… they’re…” She looks from Garrus, then to Shepard. “It’s a chemical we’re isolating from the Thorian. It’s very… important for this colony. I couldn’t just leave it…”  
          Shepard stares at the canisters and lets her hand rest on the bag, still holding her pistol in the other. “What does it do?”  
          “We’re… looking into it.”  
          Shepard still doesn’t stand, or take her hand off the bag. The black visor of her helmet hides her face. “None of the other employees outside mentioned the Thorian. Not Ethan, and not your mother.”  
          Liz nods. “Most of them wouldn’t know; my mother included. They were keeping it confidential until we had some more concrete findings. And Ethan is a manager. He knows, but he wouldn’t bring it up.”  
          “Then why did you?”  
          Liz freezes. “You’re Alliance. You… need to know what’s going on.”  
          Shepard watches her for a few moments longer, drumming her fingers on the bag. Then she stands. “Miss Baynham. Go back to the survivors here. After I regain contact with my ship, we’ll decide where we go from there.”  
          “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be waiting.” Liz nods, zipping the bag. “And… here. Take this.” She fishes something out of her pocket and hands it to Shepard – a plastic card embossed with her picture and data. “This is my ExoGeni keycard. In case the geth are somewhere with restricted access. Um. Good luck.” Without looking back she sprints past them, down the stairs and out of sight.  
          “This is getting strange, Commander.” Garrus says as Shepard stands, watching her go. “Noveria-style strange. The geth are here for plant?”  
          “And those canisters weren’t just for chemical storage,” Shepard says, holstering her pistol. “They were like tear gas shells. And it supposedly comes from this Thorian?”  
          “So it’s a weapon?” Tali says. “I suppose it makes sense, but still, why would the geth – and Saren – want it? It seems a bit… small scale, for his past actions.”  
          “I’m getting comms opened with my damn ship,” Shepard says, slipping the card into a pocket beneath a plate of the hardsuit. “Then these people are going to start answering my damn questions.”  
          Further on is more offices and meeting rooms – with the same roughshod quality as the rest of the building. Unlike Noveria and the rachni, the geth have mostly left the area unharmed. The employees may have said that there were casualties, but there are no signs of bodies, either.  
          The squad passes an open joining hall, with information terminals and computer towers. At one side is a circular electronics platform, for displaying a VI hologram, much like the comm holograms on board the Normandy. _They can afford a VI holo-platform, but they’re thinking of shutting down this colony?_ The platform sparks intermittently as Shepard passes it –  
           _“Welcome, Elizabeth Baynham. Please state command.”_  
          The whole squad whirls on the platform, guns drawn. A faint hologram of a nondescript human appears on the display platform, flickering each time the base sparks and snaps. “Oh, crap. The key card she gave me. It activated the terminal by proximity.”  
          Garrus slowly lowers his rifle. “Maybe we can get some answers from the VI? A straightforward answer would be pretty nice at this point.”  
          “It’s not voice-keyed,” Tali says. “Pretty low security.”  
          “It’s just a colony investor,” Shepard reminds her. “They’re not in the business of keeping big secrets. The keycard was probably enough security for them. Until now.” She steps forward and clears her throat. “Elizabeth Baynham, requesting access to files concerning the Thorian.”  
          The hologram flickers alarmingly. _“Thorian. Subject code: Species 37. There is no new data from sensors. Feedback indicates inactivity in Zhu’s Hope for several cycles.”_  
          “The colony?” Garrus says.  
          Shepard takes a breath. “VI: State location of the Thorian.”  
           _“Location of Thorian remains in close proximity to established colony, although exact location is unknown. Cross-examination of spore paths reinforce this hypothesis._ ”  
          Tali takes a step back. “Okay, this is getting really really weird. Nobody mentioned spores.”  
          “VI: Give me a summary of all known data gathered on the Thorian,” Shepard says.  
           _“Thorian. Plant-based life form unique to Feros. Hypothesized to be the only of its kind. Scatters spores when it senses exothermic organic life forms. Once reaching infection levels, spores affect organisms with a centralized nervous system, including all known Citadel races. After one week of exposure, subjects are considered infected and display stereotypical altered behavior. Factors that determine infection includes use of standard air filters, duration of exposure, and environmental influences such as rain or cold. Species confirmed to be affected through testing: Human. Before going offline, sensors confirmed one hundred percent infection of control group.”_  
          Shepard stares, glad the helmet hides her shocked reaction. “The control group is the colony. All the people down there are infected –”  
          “But, we’re not affected, right?” Tali asks anxiously. “We all had our helmets on the whole time we were down there. Do your non-quarian suits have filtration?”  
          “Yes,” Shepard answers. “And it was raining, keeping dust out of the air. And we weren’t down there for more than an hour. We’re fine.”  
          “But those people…” Garrus shakes his head. “One hundred percent infection? Was the colony put down here just to see what happens?”  
          “Well, what does happen?” Shepard turns back to the hologram, formulating how to ask the next question. “VI: What is the… nature of the infection?”  
           _“Thorian develops connection to subject through signals to nervous system. Subjects are conditioned through negative feedback, using pain sensations to manipulate behaviors and formulate will subversion. When not in use, the subjects are allowed to pantomime a normal lifestyle. The Thorian receives sensory input from the subjects it controls. It is currently unknown to what degree.”_  
          “’Allowed to pantomime.’ They all know they’re infected,” Garrus says. “I guess it explains why they were acting so odd.”  
          “We’ve got to get back down there. If it was… watching us, then it knows the Normandy is down there, too.” Shepard looks to the hologram. “VI: deactivate.”  
           _“Command accepted. Be advised, Ms. Baynham: your probation will continue until next quarter review. Topics: Combative behavior, challenging colony protocol, insubordination.”_ The hologram fades.  
          “Sounds like she disagreed with it all, at least,” Tali says. “I wonder why she didn’t say anything when we asked her.”  
          “People do weird things under guilt,” Shepard says. “Maybe she gave me the key card knowing it would let me access this information.” She turns on her heel and strides on. “We can ask her about it personally when we go back.”  
          The halls lead to more stairwells and pathways, higher and higher up the tower. Strange technology begins to show the way – long pale cords, strange cylindrical terminals – it’s geth tech, through and through. They finally reach the upper balcony of a main comm hub, with a sweeping view of the room below.  
          Shepard drops to a crouch as they enter, taking cover behind the solid metal sheet-guardrail bordering the balcony. It won’t offer much of a shield, but at least it offers a hiding place. She peeks through the cracks between two panels.  
           Geth gather about the center of the area. The terminals at the middle have been cleared out, making way for a platform built out of mechanical pipes and coils. Something sits on the pedestal, but it’s blocked from Shepard’s line of sight. A group of geth is motionless before the display – some are even kneeling before it.  
          Also scattered around the room are pale metal spikes, each impaling a dead ExoGeni employee. Shepard is instantly reminded of the spikes on Eden Prime – but these are pale, smooth, with a pearly sheen. Distinctly geth.  
          “Well, we found the human casualties,” Shepard says, speaking through their personal comms instead of the hardsuit’s speaker.  
          “A hell of a thing, Commander,” Garrus’s voice fills her ear as the three of them watch from their hiding places around the edge of the balcony. He slowly, silently unfolds his sniper rifle and observes through the scope. “It’s not the same as what you mentioned in your report. Hmm. The bodies there have been dead for a few hours. The skin has that waxy look, and the blood’s pooling.”  
          “The spikes on Eden Prime changed them into these weird organic-synthetic things.” Shepard’s not sure why she’s repeating it – he’s read her report. “Believe me, they wouldn’t look like that.”  
          “Right. You said they were like walking bodies. Like husks.” Garrus lowers the rifle. She can’t see his face past his helmet, but he nods to her regardless. “So, it’s just an imitation? What for?”  
          “I think they’re…” Tali finally speaks. “Praying. To that altar.”  
          Shepard practically does a double-take. “You know, you’ve got a point…”  
          “And the dead humans are part of the worship?” Garrus asks.  
          “Dead organics,” Tali whispers.  
          “Well, the organics aren’t such easy prey this time around,” Shepard says as she unfolds her own sniper rifle. The geth are sufficiently distracted by their own activities to take notice as she lines up the shot, focusing on one standing near the back.” “Vakarian. Got a bead?”  
          “Yes. Waiting for your order.”  
          “Tali?”  
          “I’ve got a few of their runtimes isolated,” Tali says. Shepard can see the glow of the omni-tool out of the corner of her eye.           “Ready when you are.”  
          “And – fire.” Shepard squeezes the trigger, hearing Garrus’ rifle crack out at almost the same second. The group of synthetics sweeps into action, but – three of them shudder and flail, and then raise their own weapons and fire on their fellows.  
          “Nice job, Tali. Didn’t know you could instigate friendly fire.”  
          “It’s – hard to do, Commander,” Tali says, still typing furiously on her omni-tool. “I can’t help out with the attack myself. But I’ll keep them off-center.”  
          Shepard and Garrus keep on the move, using the barrier encircling the balcony to mask their movements and give them time to prime more shots. The maneuvers are made drastically easier by Tali, who hacks the geth as quickly as they can repair their processes and keeps them from combining their forces against the squad.  
          Another geth falls from a well-placed sniper bullet, and as Shepard lifts the rifle back to priming position, she catches a glimpse of the thing on the pedestal through her scope. _Jagged. Black. Metallic._ For some reason, the sight of it makes her stomach drop. _They were kneeling to it. Paying deference._  
          Shepard’s hands go back to the motion of priming the next thermal clip as she muses, and she lines up the shot over the torso of the next geth, and then –  
          Before she can press the trigger, it staggers under the fire of a single sniper bullet and falls. _Oh. That was the last one._ Shepard straightens and looks over to where Garrus begins to stand. “Vakarian. Took my shot.”  
          “Sorry, Commander. Won’t happen again.”  
          Tali is already bounding down the stairs to the first level, weaving amid the terminals and geth equipment. She stops short at one of the fallen synthetics, kneeling down to inspect it. “They were… praying. It implies further development since their uprising. It implies a belief system, a mind that interprets beyond input and feedback…”  
          She’s half speaking to herself. Shepard moves more cautiously, orbiting the altar in a wide circle. Down this close, she can finally see the object of their devotion: a black, flat, conical piece of metal, composed of jagged over-locking plates. A pattern of red lights pulses faintly around the base.  
           _A black ship, above a planet on fire._  
          “Spirits,” Garrus swears, and Shepard’s sure he’s not even aware he said it. “Commander? What is that thing?”  
          “I don’t know.” Her own voice is thicker than she’d like. The dread raising in her chest suffocates her breath. “I don’t like the look of it.” The segments seem normal at first glance, but now that she’s studying it, the geometries and angles seem… wrong. The edges seem to creep along, as if the segments are moving, writhing. But it’s only in the peripheral vision – when her attention turns to look head on, the boundaries still.  
          And the rest of the periphery image begins to shiver.  
           _It descends upon the city, black tentacles unfurling down._  
          “Damn. Dammit.” Garrus takes a step back, shaking his helmeted head. “It’s giving me – a headache – ”  
          “Garrus, it’s…”  
          A harsh crackling noise startles them both at once. Nearby, Tali wrenches the head off of an inactive geth and begins working on her omni-tool.  
          “Tali?”  
          She doesn’t look up. “I’ll only be a minute, Commander. I’m searching their memory cores.”  
          “Think you’ll find something?”  
          “I hope so. We only categorized the geth as self-aware because of their development as an AI. This behavior isn’t known among my people. I’m very interested to see the primary OS of a geth partaking in this activity.”  
          Shepard has a sudden moment of disquiet – if they are developed enough to worship, then they’re functional as sentient beings. Fighting them is like fighting any of the organic races. And Tali’s ripping the head off. _Should I be allowing this…?_ And then – _Well, they are AI – you knew they were more than just a regular machine._ A glance to anywhere in the room shows the bodies hanging from bloody spikes. _Do geth even have rites for their dead?_  
          Tali stands, nodding to her omni-tool, and closes the hologram. “I’ve retrieved all the data from them. It will take a while to sift through it all, though. Commander?” She finally notices the geth’s relic, undisturbed on its platform.  
          “Is that what they were praying to?” She approaches it with enthusiasm. “Maybe I’ll take this too. It would be interesting to see why they consider it an – ”  
          “No.” Shepard’s voice is hard. “Don’t even touch it.”  
          “Tali, look at it,” Garrus says quietly.  
          Finally she stops moving long enough to stop and study it. And after a moment…  
          “Keelah! What is that thing? Why is it – ” She staggers back to hide halfway behind Shepard.  
          “I… nobody touch it. Just leave it alone. I’ll alert the captain of the Perugia that there’s some kind of new tech here.”  
          “It’s not geth,” Tali says simply.  
          “No,” Shepard agrees. “It’s not.”  
           _A figure, crawling across the ground. It raises a bloody hand up to the sky…_  
          The image is accompanied by a tidal wave of pressure, and a moment after, a tidal wave of pain. Well, here we go.  
          “Commander.” Garrus is already moving away from the altar, towards the front of the room. There, a white waist-high box sits on the ground, wired to one of the terminals and topped with several styles of antenna. “Geth jammer.”  
          “They set it all up here. Their jammer and their little… altar.” Shepard moves towards it, feeling more than a little relieved with the distance she’s putting between herself and the dark tech. This equipment is still more familiar, despite being geth. She could try to disarm it, chew through the programming with her omni-tool…  
          The pain is a white-hot needle through her forehead.  
          Shepard unloads a couple tech grenades from her hardsuit and places it down around the jammer. “Frag out. Everybody down.”  
          They crouch behind a long divider with several monitors, waiting for the grenades to explode. Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard can still see the pedestal in the corner of her eye. We’re too close to it. Still too close.  
           _A huge pile of corpses, outside a ruined city._  
          The grenades detonate and there’s a burst of static in her comm.  
          “Commander, come in. Commander Shepard, this is the Normandy. Please come in. Come in come in come in come in…”  
          “Joker? Shepard, reporting in.”  
          “Oh holy shit, Commander! I’ve been trying to hail you this whole time! What the hell happened?”  
          “Geth had a comm jammer in the HQ tower. It happens. What’s your status?”  
          “Bugshit lunacy, Commander. About ten minutes ago, the colonists here just went nuts! They swarmed the ship! And they’re still here!”  
          “They’re inside?!”  
          “No, not inside – they’re crawling all over on the outside, banging all over the hull, screaming. Wrex wanted to go out and gun them down, but Kaidan ordered that we stay inside and wait for your orders.”  
          Relief floods over Shepard. “Lieutenant Alenko made the right call. They can’t get into the ship with their bare hands. Stay in lockdown, we’re about to go back down to the surface.” Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard sees Tali dart to another terminal, across the aisle from where they are. “Do you have any idea where the geth are?”  
          “I’ve got no clue,” Joker says. “With that jammer they could’ve been lifting off left and right and we wouldn’t have picked ‘em up. Wherever they are, they’re… apparently not attacking the colonists any more. Shit, Commander, be careful. These people are like animals out there.”  
          “Understood. Just keep the ship in lockdown, and remind the others that Alenko is in charge until I get back. Let me know if you hear anything from the Perugia.”  
          “Aye, aye, ma’am.” The comm clicks off.  
          Exhaling sharply, Shepard waits for a moment as the next wave of pain begins to wane. “Joker’s been trying to get ahold of us. The geth down below are MIA. The colonists attacked the Normandy with their bare hands. They’re currently crawling around on top of the ship.”  
          “Damn.” Garrus shakes his head. “It looks like this Thorian definitely knows that we’re here now.”  
          She stands from her crouching position, looking with satisfaction to the ruined shell of the jammer. “We can assume that they were after the Thorian. In any case, we have to fix what’s going on in this damned colony.”  
          “Commander.” Garrus hesitates. “Lady Benezia said that Saren turned her using some kind of mind control. This plant can supposedly use mind control, at least in a sense. What if he’s after that?”  
          Shepard can only stare at him for a good second, stopped cold. “That makes more sense than anything else, Vakarian. Someone must know what’s going on here –”  
          “Commander?” Tali’s voice is high with alarm. “I think you should see this…” She stands at a nearby terminal, which is lit and active.  
           _Is that what she noticed earlier?_ “It still works? Is it something the geth were doing?”  
          “It’s not.” Tali types at it busily, then slows, then stops. “It’s a report to… somewhere. It –” She cuts off and holds both of her hands up to the screen in what Shepard assumes is quarian exasperation. Then she reads aloud, “The samples have been sent to Chasca. The shipment contains enough allotment for several trials. Practice known preventative measures and –”  
          Shepard and Garrus rush the terminal, reading over Tali’s shoulder. _And exercise caution in handling, as there is no known cure, and distance from source is an unknown variable._  
          “The chemical Miss Baynham had?” Garrus muses.  
          “No. It’s the damned spores.” Shepard bangs her fist on the terminal. _How much more idiotic could this company get?_  “They sent some spores off planet.”  
          “Unless the canisters had the spores all along, too,” Garrus finishes flatly.  
          “Why?” Tali sounds just as exasperated as Shepard feels. “As if those things need to be spread around anymore!”  
           “Chasca. A planet called Chasca,” Shepard repeats to herself. “Who was the message sent to?”  
          “I don’t know. I saw that the monitor was active, so it must have been sent right as the geth attacked. But the destination is encrypted past something that I can’t break. If the message had been closed in time, I wouldn’t be able to see it either.”  
          “Something that a quarian can’t hack into?” Shepard glances down to Tali. “Pretty far from the simple key-card VI they had below. Something doesn’t add up.”  
          “What should we do?”  
          “We need to worry about here, first and foremost. I’ll have the Alliance look into it after we get out of this place.” She waves them on, heading back up the stairs and backtracking out of the room. “Time to go have a chat with Ethan and Liz.”  
          They reach the bottom floor without incident, and once the open entryway turns into view, it’s all Shepard can do to keep from rushing back outside, to the concrete building sheltering the employees. But two steps later –  
          Shepard gasps and dives behind cover, readying her rifle. _Well, it’s a good thing all this construction junk gives us room to hide._ She pauses to throw out some hand signals, sending Garrus on the other side of the room. Tali is less understanding of Alliance signals, but more or less she’s fine where she is and so           Shepard taps her own left wrist – _Going to need your omni-tool._  
          Tali opens it and nods. From behind her masks’s visor, Shepard can see the pale silhouettes of her eyes, tracking the information on the holographic screen. She sees it now.  
          There’s a whole group of geth waiting for them, at least a couple dozen. They approach the front of the tower with a single-mindedness only afforded to machines. The outside shelter where the survivors hide is passed with no reaction. The geth from below. _They’re here for us._  
          Swallowing hard, Shepard leans the rifle against the jagged concrete slab and lines up her shot – and fires. Garrus and Tali respond in kind, launching their respective attacks to the alerted synthetics as they pass through the opening, into the tower.  
          “Ah… Commander?” Tali types faster than Shepard would think possible, glancing over her cover periodically. “I… they’re…”  
          Shepard glances up from loading her rifle. The geth are no longer behaving as standard combatants – they are advancing openly, with no regard to cover. The exposed advance is less than comforting – easy shots, but from her vantage point it looks like a solid wave of hostiles.  
          “Switch weapons!” Shepard calls, unholstering her pistol and starting her own return fire. Garrus follows suit, preparing his assault rifle and firing down on the geth.  
          A few of them do shudder and fall, or wildly fire on their fellows as Tali continues her omni-tool rampage through their ranks.           Her efforts hamper the advance considerably, and as she reloads her pistol, Shepard makes a mental note to thank the quarian for offering to come along –  
          Shepard gasps as she drops her pistol, fighting the urge to clutch her head in both hands.  
           _Figures running through the streets of a shattered city._  
          She hears something – someone calling her name. The recognition fights through the pressure and the pain. A voice, calling through her comm. _Garrus. Garrus called my name._  
           _Behind them, a sea of fire advances._  
          There’s more gunfire, more sounds of battle. They’re still fighting, despite this new turn. Good. It’s what she brought Vakarian for.  
           _Some of them know that they will not escape. They sit, and hold each other. They wait._  
           _So vivid._  
          Shepard leans against the concrete section to keep herself balanced as she rides the wave of pain like driftwood in a river. The thought to keep below cover is only barely workable – she sinks lower and lower, doubled over. Her helmet stirs up the scattering of dust across the tower’s concrete floor.  
          Not concrete. Some other stuff. Prothean ruins.  
           _A Prothean vision –_  
           _Coma, seizures, death._  
           _Some of them know –_  
          Gunfire, screams in static as the geth fall.  
           _– that they will not escape._  
          The pistol sits in the ground inches away from her hand, with the thermal clip still half-loaded into its chamber. This close, it fills the vision afforded by her helmet. The simple sight of it forces its way through the pain, through the pressure.  
          Pick up the gun.  
           _If it’s… going to happen, I need to see to it that we’re as far as I can take us, before…_  
          And fire.  
          Crying out with the effort, Shepard grabs the pistol off the ground and slams her hand down, feeling the familiar snap as the clip fully loads.  
           _M-5 Phalanx pistol,_ she thinks, focusing her frenzied thoughts to a basic train of facts. _Alliance issue. New clip is loaded. That means six shots._  
          She straightens, poking her head up and haphazardly aiming as the world pitches and yaws around her. _Miss… miss… miss…_ A lucky hit catches a geth in the shoulder – not the one she was aiming for.  
          At this rate she’s just wasting clips, probably endangering her squad. A sizzling crack snaps the air around her, leaving a low angry drone – her kinetic barrier’s down, overloaded by all the shots she’s taking. The thought occurs to her duck back under cover – the pain crests and overcomes everything, then begins to ebb, and then –  
          A force slams her hard in the shoulder and throws her back. She drops the pistol. The pain in her head is suddenly mirrored by a piercing burn in her right shoulder. It seeps down, and the feeling in the arm numbs to nothing.  
          The geth use pulse weapons. _I’m hit_. Any emotion towards this fact is buried underneath the agony. She falls to the ground, on her side. Her cheek presses against the side of the helmet as she hits the dirty floor. Her hardsuit hisses gently as the medi-gel deploys. She’s behind the concrete barrier, safe – for now. No stopping some geth from getting behind here and taking the kill.  
           _Are we winning?_ The single thought floats up with halfhearted interest. There’s more shouting, orders called - a chorus of geth chatter in an indecipherable static gibberish.  
          The pain in her shoulder melts away as the medi-gel does its work. She’ll need a trip to the med bay after this is over, but the gel will begin the healing in the meantime. If she lives long enough to get back to the Normandy. _Of course._  
          Miraculously, the pain in her head begins to subside as well, although it does not abate completely. The pressure, scratchy thoughts, remains in full force.  
          Heavy footsteps, a shadow over her – blue armor – Garrus’ voice, saying something to her – a hand on her shoulder –  
           _Tech grenade._ Woodenly she fumbles for the explosives clip at her waist, loads a grenade into her tremoring hands –  
          Garrus takes it and peeks up over the concrete buttress, tossing the prepped mine. Ducking back down, he kneels over her body as the explosion detonates. The reverberation sends another shockwave of pain through her head. Shepard clenches her teeth against the moans. The pain lasts forever, or something close to it.  
          He puts his hand back on her shoulder. “Commander. Talk to me.”  
          “Give it… give me a second…” She doesn’t move. The migraine echoes back in aftershocks of agony, each a bit fainter than the last. “Over. Is it… over?”  
“          They’re all down, Commander. I had Tali round up the stragglers into one space and I blew them to hell with your grenade.”  
          “Good…” She feels a swell of pride. _They’ll be fine without me._  
          “Commander! You were hit!” Tali sprints over, hovering her hands over Shepard’s body. “Oh no – Garrus, deploy a medi-gel – Commander, what happened – why are you -?”  
          “Medi-gel deployed, Tali,” Shepard says through clenched teeth.  
          “Geth pulses overwhelm barriers very easily,” Tali says, so quickly the words start to blur through her suit’s respirator-speaker. “They are actually a light-weight basic slug encased in a phasic energy that each bullet generates on its own so they are not as effective against combat hardsuits if it’s only a single shot or two but the phasic barrier is very painful and in large volleys they–“  
          “Tali,” Shepard says pushing herself to sit upright, compacting and stowing her pistol. “The medi-gel is working. I’m okay.” Garrus is out of her helmet’s field of vision, but she can practically feel him staring her down. He knows. He has to.  
          Without comment he holds out a hand. She takes it, allowing herself the help to her feet. The world spins alarmingly as she rises, and past their gloved hands she can feel the point of his talons. For a few moments she just stands, getting her bearings, and Garrus doesn’t pull his hand away.  
          “Commander?” Tali asks. “Are you… okay? It was only the one shot, right?”  
          “We need to get you to the med bay,” Garrus says.  
           _It’s not going to fucking help!_ Shepard pushes down the flash of emotion and jerks away her hand. “We’ve got to get back down there to reach the Normandy.” A harsh buzzing noise intensifies around her and then quiets – her kinetic shields are back online.  
          Deactivate geth litter the battlefield, in numbers that seems greater than she’d originally thought. _Holy crap. They all came up here to get us?_ She takes a breath, surveying the results as she picks her way past them. The pain in her head hovers around mostly manageable, but she hides as best she can. She tries to think up some comment, some way to change the subject off of her –  
          A single gunshot pierces through the thin air. “The survivors?” Garrus says as the three of them break into a mad dash towards the squat concrete shed. There’s no sign on anything from the outside, but another shot cracks from inside the building. Shepard retrieves previously-stowed pistol and hastens onward.  
          The two guards at the entrance are dead, splayed across the ground in pooling blood.  
          “You son of a bitch! You can’t just –! You’re not getting away with this!” Liz’s voice.  
          Ethan, ExoGeni representative manager, wields Liz Baynham’s pistol against the rest of the group, who cowers in the opposite corner. He stands with his back to the entrance and so does not notice the entry of Shepard and her squad.  
          Someone in the group calls out to Shepard, but she’s already got her pistol trained right at Ethan. He sucks in his breath when he sees her, and the beads of sweat are clearly visible across his forehead.  
          “Commander Shepard,” he says. The mock politeness is belied by the tightness in his voice. The gun remains pointed at the group of employees on the other side of the room. “I should have known it was too much to hope that the geth would kill you.”  
          Shepard frowns but keeps her aim steady. _Please, head, just don’t hurt any worse._ Stay focused. “Ethan – ”  
          “No! Whatever you’re going to say – just – just no!” He flicks his eyes back to the group huddled in the corner. Liz stands at the forefront, shielding her mother with her own body and glaring death to her supervisor.  
          “Ethan,” Shepard begins again, firmly. “Put the gun down. Let’s just talk – this out.”  
          “Shut up, Shepard!” He stares back at her, clenching his jaw. “I don’t care – that you’re some big Alliance hero from the Skyllian Blitz. You’re not welcome here –”  
          “He says they’re going to purge the colony!” Liz cries out.  
          Shepard freezes, and from behind her Garrus makes a low noise. “That can’t be possible,” Shepard says. Purging – not withdrawing. He had said purging. _Only used for when all inhabitants of a colony are deceased._ Abandoning a colony as quickly as possible and never looking back. “The status of this colony is still –”  
          “You cut the jamming signal! I got in contact with ExoGeni heads,” Ethan practically spits. “Their orders were clear. Purge the colony. And my job here – is to carry out the orders.”  
          “Ethan, put the gun down. I’m telling you now.” She watches him, down the barrel of her pistol. It’s strange – the focus, the absolute effort, is pushing the pain away, but the pressure is getting worse. It can’t be a good sign.  
          “There are people down there!” It’s Liz’s mother Juliana who speaks this time, over a rising din of voices. “You can’t declare they’re all dead just to make it easy!”  
          “We’re not fucking murderers!”  
          “What makes you think we’ll play along?”  
          “Get back in touch with HQ!”  
          “Shut up! All of you!” Ethan takes a step forward, waving the gun at the unruly crowd, keeping track of Shepard with constant glances. “I have authority to contain the situation! Do you understand me?!”  
          “No, you don’t,” Shepard says. “I won’t let you kill these people, no matter what the corporate heads said. Now drop your weapon –”  
          “No!” Ethan turns, and this time, his pointed gun goes with him, swinging in a wide arc towards Shepard. “ _I have to contain the –_ ”  
          Gasps and cries sound out as twin gunshots fire, and in the silence afterwards, Shepard’s activated barrier crackles as it re-stabilizes.  
          Ethan staggers to the ground, coughing blood. The gun clatters out of his hand.  
          “You – you shot him. Oh, God.” Liz slowly raises her hands to her mouth as she watches the body bleed out. A few moments of stunned silence, and then – “You couldn’t just… shoot to wound?”  
          “There is no shoot to wound,” Shepard replies, slowly stowing her gun. “If you shoot someone, you shoot to kill.” _This is the same woman who fired on us earlier, when we entered the tower. I guess we’re doubly lucky no one was hit._  
          “He was going to kill us,” Juliana says, more to her daughter than anyone else. “He was going to kill those people down there, and he would’ve killed us if we didn’t go along with it.”  
          Someone else from the group steps forward. “Why would he fire on an Alliance soldier, though?”  
          “There’s no way HQ gave those orders. Ethan was lying. Again,” another person says.  
          “He must have finally cracked. He’s been acting weird since the geth attack.”  
          Even amid the comments, a select group of people do not speak up, looking stiff and uncomfortable. They know.  
          Shepard gives Liz a long look. “Elizabeth. This is about the Thorian, isn’t it?”  
          “I… I tried to change it. But there was nothing I could do,” Liz says, wiping tears from her eyes. “I fought them every step of the way, but then they threatened to transfer me somewhere else. So… I stayed. Behaved myself. I thought I could change things from the inside, help the people in Zhu’s Hope that way.”  
          “Liz? What’s this about?” Juliana looks to her daughter with wide eyes, then looks to the select others who appear similarly regretful. _Her co-workers, probably._ “What’s a Thorian? What were they doing?”  
          “You wanted to help, and never once thought about going to your Alliance?” Tali steps forward to stand beside Shepard. “All of this could have been prevented!”  
          “I – I know, I just… I didn’t know what they would do!” Liz’s brow furrows as new tears appear. “They might shut down the colony, or, or… do things to the colonists, or…” She shrugs, deflated. “It turned out so wrong. Every choice we made led up to this.” She motions to Ethan’s body. “I can’t even tell you when it finally went all to hell.”  
          “But you didn’t – ”  
          Shepard gently raises her hand, silencing Tali. “It went bad, but it doesn’t have to keep going bad. The only thing that matters now is the next choice you make. I have to know why the geth are after the Thorian.”  
          “I don’t… I really don’t know,” Liz says, shaking her head vehemently. “I’m sorry.”  
          “Why were spores shipped off-world?” Garrus finally speaks.  
          Liz looks to him, wide-eyed. “I don’t… we never shipped off spores. Never.”  
          “There was a message in the ExoGeni comm hub that stated otherwise.”  
          “Sir, I don’t…” She shakes her head again. “I didn’t know anything about that. I swear.”  
          Shepard sighs. “Looks like the lid’s getting blown off everything going on here. I’m headed back down to the surface. The Thorian seems to know that I’m here, and it doesn’t like it. It’s directing the colonists to attack my ship – with their bare hands.”  
          “What are you going to do to the infected people?” Liz glances down to Ethan’s body. _There is no shoot to wound._ “If it senses you on the surface, it’s going to redirect them to attack you.”  
          It’s an ugly, sharp feeling. “I’m going to do what I can, Ms. Baynham. I can’t just wait here for the Perugia to show up.”  
          “Give her the cans, Liz,” a woman says softly, from the back of the group.  
          Nodding, Liz retrieves the rucksack from the side of the room, placing it at Shepard’s feet. “If you’re going down there, then take this, Commander. Please.”  
          She opens it again as Shepard kneels down to study the cans once again. “I told you this was a chemical we isolated from the Thorian. But it’s not. My team was… trying to find a way to contain the infection. Or cure it.”  
          “This is a cure?” Shepard looks up sharply.  
          “No.” Liz smiles helplessly past the tears. “We took small samples of spores and tested them against chemicals, antibiotics, things like that. We had to work small.”  
          “You were afraid the Thorian would find out what you were doing?” Garrus strides over to stand on Shepard’s other side, observing the bag.  
          “Yeah. That, and… Ethan too. I told him the same thing; that we were trying to find another use for the Thorian. He would have stopped me too, if he knew what I was really doing. But we couldn’t find a cure. This was the closest thing… It… temporarily inactivates the spores. The Thorian seems to react by rendering the subject unconscious until it wears off. To prevent them from acting on their own in the meantime, we guess. For about an hour, to maybe forty-five minutes.”  
          “You said you worked small. This was never tested on humans?”  
          “No. I’m sorry. It’s still experimental. Everything could work just like we thought, or it could… it could kill them. It might not even work at all.” She shrugs again, eyes filled with tears.  
          “I’ll take them,” Shepard says, trying to sound encouraging. “It’s better than nothing. The VI in the tower said that the Thorian was located somewhere in the colony?”  
          Liz nods. “With all the ruins, it could be anywhere. There are even subterranean ruins that run beneath the colony. We only know its general location from spore path analysis.”  
          Shepard nods. “The geth seem to be after me, now. Once I head back down, you all should be safe up here. Wait for contact from the Normandy for updates on the situation.” She nods to the aged comm console.  
          “What if… the HQ tries to contact us?” Juliana says, face pale. “Do they know this… this thing has infected the colonists? What if they ask… about Ethan?”  
          “ExoGeni has lost the right to direct this operation,” Shepard says, zipping the bag and standing. “In fact, I’ll go so far as to say you’re only to answer comms from either the Normandy or the Perugia until this is under control. And with that final order, I'm heading out.”  
          Shouldering the bag, she nods one last time to the group and turns, leaving the concrete hideaway to the skyway outside. Garrus and Tali follow behind without a word.  
          All of the trepidation and wonder at being so high up is gone now. There’s only the rest of the mission, laid out before her. _Find the Thorian. Disable the colonists. Find out what’s going on with the geth._  
          After they board the elevator, Shepard heaves the bag back off of her shoulder and unzips it. The pack is crammed to capacity with the gas canisters. But is it enough for an entire colony? “I’ll reiterate it again: no deadly force against the colonists.”  
          “Commander,” Garrus begins, obviously hesitant. Shepard pauses, giving him time to speak. “What if… we can’t save them? What if this chemical ends up killing them anyways, like Miss Baynham said? Or if it doesn’t work?”  
          “We’re working with a ‘what-if’ here, so we’re going with the safer option,” Shepard says firmly. “If things go from bad to worse, we’ll change strategies, but I’ll take it as it happens. I’m here to protect this colony, and that includes them.”  
          She half expects him to argue, but he only nods. “Understood, Commander. No firearms until further notice.”  
          “Are you feeling any better, Commander?” Tali clasps her hands together, watching Shepard from behind her enviro-suit’s visor. “Things are about to get crazy again, it seems.”  
          “I’m fine, Tali,” Shepard says. The pain has returned as a low, steady thrum – and then her ears start ringing. Maybe she can last until the end of this mission.  
          Tali doesn’t look away. “You’re standing a bit strangely, is all – a bit stiffly.”  
          “Oh.” Shepard forces herself to relax. “I just need to… get this over with. We… need to hurry.”  
          No one answers.


	12. Running Through the Thornbush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *********************** TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE LIKE WHOA! SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE! **************************
> 
> Okay with that out of the way!  
> -This chapter was the hardest the hardest to write so far. A lot of "video game logic" stuff that I had to smooth out or change  
> \- The thralls turned out kind of "horror/zombie" style but I feel like it works.  
> \- I completely changed the nature of the "translated" vision, since in the actual game nothing really changes.  
> \- I gave Joker an Adventure Time joke near the end there. 
> 
> And... that's it!

          The elevator doors open, revealing the same dark rainy surface they’d left behind. The path back to the colony is marked with concrete dividers and scattered floodlights.  
          “The geth are all gone, right?” Tali asks as they step off the elevator. “And the infected people are too busy attacking the Normandy. So perhaps we won’t have to fight at all – ”  
          Movement, in the shadows before them. A figure sways gently as it stands. It turns slowly. A breathy moan floats up past the sound of rain.  
          “Or it left something behind for us,” Shepard mutters, wedging her thumb under the release valve at the top of her gas can. _Guess we’ll get to see if these work or not –_  
          The wheezy sound raises to a full squeal as the figure moves into the halo of a towering spotlight. Mud-caked clothing, shredded over the once-human body. The face is grotesquely swollen, and the features are further buried by the dark green patches rimmed in white, sprouting around the mouth and nose before running in wide bald spots across the scalp.  
          The entire plan stalls in her mind. _Not a colonist – Not –!_  
          It moves fast, shrieking and raising its arms. In one motion Shepard activates the canister and throws it in a low arc.  
          “That – that’s not a geth! What do I do? What do I – ?”  
          “Calm down, Tali!” Shepard fumbles for her pistol as the enemy approaches. It passes over the canister, still screaming, billowing the white gas around it as it moves. It doesn’t even slow. Shepard raises the pistol to fire – _what can I do what else can I do?_  
          “Commander!” Garrus has his gun trained on it. “Fire?”  
          The bloated thing screams again, then shudders and staggers, tripping on its own feet. For a few drunken steps it thrashes wildly, then falls in a single heap. The screaming stops abruptly. _Like somebody cutting the strings on a puppet._  
          Garrus watches it from where he stands, keeping his gun aimed at the prone form. “Commander. Is that… what Joker was talking about?”  
          “He didn’t mention anything like this. He said it was colonists, attacking the ship.” Shepard laboriously holsters the pistol, pausing to readjust the rucksack.  
          “It’s not human.”  
          “I think… I think it was. At some point,” Shepard says, stepping towards the body. Something dark and grainy looking oozes from the ruined nose. She swallows. “What if someone here just kept breathing in the spores? Do you think the infection just gets worse and worse?”  
          “Or some people react adversely to the infection,” Garrus says, motioning to the swollen face. “That looks like anaphylaxis.”  
          Shepard nudges the body with her boot, then drops to one knee and checks the pulse. “Nothing. It just dropped dead.”  
          “I don’t know if it’s been ‘alive’ for a while now,” Garrus says. “Miss Baynham said that the Thorian can render them unconscious when it loses control. But if it’s the only thing keeping them alive…?”  
          “Then it’s pulling someone off of life support,” Shepard finishes.  
          “These poor people.” Tali’s voice is barely a whisper.  
          Standing over the body, Shepard’s assurance weakens to something paper-thin. _Save these people? Here to protect them? A little late for that, don’t you think? Whaddaya say, big Alliance hero?_ The canisters remaining in the lumpy bag – it all suddenly feels abashedly naïve.  
          “Commander. I think this may have been a tripwire,” Garrus says, all business. “One infected, waiting for us at the elevator? It uses hosts for sensory input too, right?”  
          “To warn it when we came back down to the surface,” Shepard says slowly. “To use the colonists at the Normandy – go! Now!” She takes off like a shot, sprinting through the rain to the next floodlight. _Stop moping and go. You’ve got a job to do!_  
          A ring of floodlights illuminate the main grounds of the colony, piercing through the rain and leading their way. The rain patters against Shepard’s helmet – but other than that, there’s no noise, no sign of colonists – or zombies –  
          A clear chorus of screams pierces the rainfall. Human cries. Ahead, from the settlement amid the ruins, a whiny wheeze rises, then another. And another.  
          “C-Commander?!” Tali says shrilly. “The people from the Normandy! They’re-!”  
          “And there’s more of the thralls,” Garrus says. “Orders?”  
          “Fire on the thralls,” Shepard says, borrowing Garrus’ on-the-spot term. _Those people are already dead. We need to save our resources for the colonists._ “Only the thralls. I’ll take point and lob the shells towards the people.”  
          “What – what if we accidently fire on you?” Tali asks.  
          “That’s what the kinetic barrier is for!”  
          “And what if the colonists actually reach you?!”  
          “That’s what the hardsuit is for!” Shepard gasps as she vaults over the concrete partitions that served as the colony’s defenses. A good handful of thralls mill about the main space of the settlement and in one motion they all turn to face her at once. Their gait is lopsided, and several of them are infected to a horrific level – the blotchy patches are thick enough that the face beneath is soft and collapsed. Shepard slows her pace, letting them come to her as her comrades fire them down.  
          The shouts of the colonists get closer, and the first few appear at the edges of the barricades. Shepard steels herself, raises the canister and launches. The first few colonists pass through the new haze, coughing and stumbling before collapsing.  
          She stares at them, tightening her grip on the next canister. They fall very quickly, but there’s no time to check vitals. Another wave announces its presence with more anguished screams. _Pain sensations to manipulate behaviors._ That sole simple fact replays over and over in Shepard’s mind, in that calm VI voice. Her heart goes out to them even she activates the canister and throws it in a wide arc, trailing a trajectory of heavy white chemicals.  
          Gunfire erupts all around her – her squad engaging more thralls, masked through motion and smoke. Shepard’s attention snaps to Arcelia, the colony head of security, who lopes forward with a group of people. Her gun remains holstered at her side, and she reels as she takes in the gas. As she sees Shepard, the desperate recognition shows clear on her face. Arcelia charges, eyes wide and aghast. But she falls with the rest of them.  
           _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._ Another colonist – one of the combatants from that first firefight – hits the wispy wall before it washes away, and they too collapse to the ground.  
          “Commander? A little help!”  
          She whirls. The movements are clumsy, but the colonists are clearly avoiding the remnants of the gas trails. The Thorian is learning. Several colonists rush forward with that uneven pace, but Garrus and Tali continue to obey her non-lethal order.  
          “Here! Towards me!” Shepard arms the next canister and lobs it over her team. It leaves a cover of smoke behind them as they close the distance, catching the pursuers head-on.  
          A force slams into Shepard and almost knocks her off her feet. She twists, tries to get ahold of the attacker. In the struggle several gas shells spill out of the rucksack and roll across the muddy ground. The person draws back, thrashing aimlessly.  
          “A-Alliance lady!” Ian Newstead wails as he staggers back a step, letting her go. “T-t-told you – can’t help…” He looks up at her, face a bare rictus of agony, and lunges again.  
          Garrus is there faster than Shepard can believe, throwing down a canister at their feet and jerking Newstead back into a headlock. Ian struggles, but it’s just as unfocused as his previous attacks.  
          “Alliance lady,” he moans again, fingers scrabbling against Garrus’ arm as the gas rises around them. “C-cover. It – cover…” Wheezing, he seems to embrace the unconsciousness as the Thorian loses control.  
          Garrus relaxes and gently lowers him to the ground, while Shepard sidesteps the hissing canister at her feet and looks around. “Tali?”  
          “I’m – I’m here,” Tali responds, a silhouette in the dying haze. “Is it over?”  
          “There’s no more for now, at least. Seems like it was throwing everything it had,” Shepard says. “Garrus?”  
          “He’s alive, Shepard,” Garrus says, pressing a finger against Newstead’s throat just below the jaw. Shepard steps forward to kneel beside Arcelia, checking her vitals as well – she, too, is alive but unconscious. She nods back to Garrus, and together they begin to move the more exposed colonists underneath a ruined arcade, covered in sheets of metal.  
          “If… if the Thorian is gone, will they be okay?” Tali asks, watching them and wringing her hands. “Or… will it… I don’t know, kill them?”  
          “I don’t know, Tali,” Shepard says, helping Garrus move the last of them out of the rain. As she straightens, she glances back over her shoulder to the rest of the settlement. Squat low prefabs, ramshackle lean-tos built against ruins, temporary sheds – nothing that would seem out of place at an Alliance colony. The Thorian. _A plant that controls other organisms through spores._ Would she even know it if she saw it?  
          The prefab sits conspicuously on top of the rubble of a massive ruined building. It wasn’t damaged. It wasn’t in some strategic position to give any cover. There was no reason to move a prefab.  
          Cover.  
           _Before he went under – Ian Newstead was trying to say –_  
          They’d covered the Thorian, to protect it from the geth.  
          “Dammit! The prefab!” Shepard rushes to it, circling around to find the crane, still positioned where they’d seen it coming in. “They moved the damn prefab to cover the way to the Thorian!”  
          Her squadmates are right behind her – surveying the prefab, the ruined building it squats on. Garrus heads straight for the crane and pokes at the controls after a few moments.  
          “Vakarian. You know how to work that thing?” Shepard watches him, retrieving another gas canister from her pack.  
          “Nope. But I’ll figure it out.” He presses some buttons and fiddles with the levers, and the long crane arm jerks back and forth through the rain. “How delicate does this operation have to be?”  
          “Not very. Just push it out of the way.” She watches anxiously as the arm lurches around and grinds up against the side of the prefab, creaking and popping as it inches the building back. More – then a little more – the wall bends – then it slides a little more –  
          Shepard strides forward, watching intently as the covered space is revealed, steep and slanted down. A tunnel, made of the same ashy concrete-looking stuff as the rest of the Prothean ruins. Scraggy patches of green and brown and black streak across the mouth of it, as far down into the darkness she can see.  
          She raises her free hand and waves him on – _a little more, a little more._ She hears the crane’s motor straining as it continues to jar the prefab inch by inch.  
          There – it’s almost fully revealed, enough for them enter. She raises her hand and clenches it into a fist. The crane arm screeches to a halt as Garrus complies. The passage is big enough for them to walk through – it’s blocky and strange, but it’s obviously meant for travel. _But leading down to what?_  
          “I’m sorry, Commander.”  
          Shepard whips up, heart pounding in her throat.  
          Fai Dan circles around a wide squat prefab, rigid and soaked from the rain. He holds a gun in his hand, pointed straight at her. “The thing that lives down there. It… wants me to stop you, Commander. It knows you’re taking its… toys.”  
          At this distance he won’t miss. The kinetic shield will probably be able to stop one or two bullets, but who knows how many he has loaded. Vakarian is back a good few yards away at the crane, and Tali’s about halfway between them, gun lowered. _You didn’t see Fai Dan among the colonists. You didn’t even think to wonder where he’d gotten too._  
          The Thorian had learned, all right.  
          “They’re not dead, Fai Dan. They’ll wake up in under an hour.” _I hope._  
          “They are dead. It’s close enough.” His eyes are puffy and red, and the tears streaking down his face have a milky green appearance even as the rain washes them away. “That thing won’t ever let us go. Thank you for trying, Commander Shepard. But I won’t.”  
          The pistol in his hand begins to shudder.  
          “I won’t let it have its way for another second. _I won’t!_ ”  
           _“No!”_ Shepard lunges forward to grab the gun, but in one swift motion he raises it to his temple.  
          Tali screams as the shot fires, and Shepard catches him even though she knows she’s too late. Gently she lowers him the rest of the way, lays him to rest on the ground, and forces the bile back down her throat. She tries very hard not to look at his head. The breath gasps in her throat.  
           _I’m so so sorry._  
           _A planet on fire. Above it floats dark starships._  
          “He… he shot himself…” Tali says. “Why would he do that – we could have used the gas, and maybe after all of this is done the Alliance could have found a way to help reverse this or something I don’t know –”  
          Shepard stands, seeing the body through her helmet’s visor, but not really recognizing it. “He’d rather die than stop us - from finding the Thorian.” She puts her hands on her hips, bowing her head and trying to dispel the nauseous pit in her stomach. It still takes her a second to completely compose herself. “Now, the – the only thing we can do for him is keep going.”  
          “We’ll find this thing, Commander,” Garrus says, striding over to stand next to her.  
          “We will. I’m ready to finish this.” She turns abruptly, heading to the mouth of the tunnel. The building that covered it must have been massive – the bare ruined foundation outlines a wide interior. _Like a skyscraper. So they built below the ground as well as above it._  
          They slowly make their way down the tunnel, and as the dimness goes darker, Shepard switches on the guide light on the shoulder of her hardsuit. The patchwork of green and brown and white begins to bleed together, and eventually coats every inch of the walls. The path beneath them levels out as it leads them deeper and deeper underground.  
          The moldy patches begin to curve and twist, becoming wispy vines that creep along the upper level of the walls. The space is small, and Shepard attempts to keep from touching the slick tendrils as she walks.  
          “Looks like we’re getting close,” Garrus mutters as they press on.  
          “Good,” Tali says, remains pointedly between the two soldiers. The tunnel widens a bit, and Shepard’s light reveals a hard right turn waiting for them up ahead. Clasping her hands, Tali continues, “We’re almost done. All we have to do is find this plant, and determine what it – what… it…”  
          They turn the corner.  
          The room opens wide and very tall – it might just reach the surface as one of the intact skyscrapers seen from the surface. Pillars shoot up in a ring near the center of the space, and jagged chunks of rubble litter the ground.  
          A wide fleshy bulb hangs from the columns on long vines, a big as a groundcar. The sides of the bulb are marked with shallow, ridged pockmarks, and beneath it, a tangle of stringy roots reaches the ground in a huge jumbled heap.  
           _“Keelah,”_ Tali whimpers.  
          “This… isn’t really covered in C-Sec training,” Garrus says. “This is a plant?”  
          “This is not like any plant I’ve ever seen,” Shepard says, taking a cautious step forward. “This is…”  
          The bulb seems to draw itself up, directing the series of pits across its side towards them. Swells of ribbed flesh pulse in a gentle pattern.  
          Shepard flinches back. It was aware enough to maneuver the colonists.  
          A hand erupts up through the tangle of roots on the floor– five-fingered and dark indigo. _An asari? On a human colony…_  
          The movement reveals more of her, dressed in a simple black hardsuit. She remains prone among the Thorian’s roots, and as she turns the reason is obvious – many of the thin tendrils are wrapped tightly around her head, twined with her own cranial crest and holding her back.  
          Her face is impassive, but Shepard’s not fooled. Not after everything that’s gone on up on the surface. _Don’t let what happened to Fai Dan repeat itself._ Taking a step forward, Shepard begins – “Ma’am, please stay calm. We’re going to – ”  
          “Intruders!” the alien woman shouts, twitching and snarling. “Invaders! Every step is a transgression!” The bulb above her shifts on its cradle of vines. “Before me is meat, only fit to dig and decompose. Servants, taken from the sacrifices given to feed this cycle’s harvest.”  
          “You’re the Thorian,” Shepard says, steadying a canister of gas in her hands. Her stomach drops. “She’s just… another puppet.”  
          “I am the Old Growth!” the asari cries. “Be in awe! I use this flesh to speak to you as I did the one called Saren!”  
          Shepard presses her lips, forcing herself to calm the sudden adrenaline spike. “Saren already found you? Why? What are the geth doing attacking the colony?”  
          “Saren sought knowledge of the last cycle,” the asari says, and there is a note of grandiose pride in her voice. “He entreated the Old Growth for wisdom. He paid proper deference. Trades were made. Offerings, fairly given. And after he left, he sent his cold ones to destroy.”  
          “So he betrayed you?” Shepard shakes her head. “He’s my foe, too. Tell me what he wanted from you.”  
          “Lies!” The asari writhes on the ground. “The air pushed here is lies! Swathed in red and black, she takes what is mine! She descends, appears before me, demands of me!” The Thorian shudders. “The blood of she and hers will water the Old Growth!”  
          “Oh crap,” Garrus says as the wheezing shrieks scream out from around them. In the darkness of the tunnels, it seems to come from everywhere at once.  
          “Come on!” Shepard darts to the side, trying to find a good spot to prevent an ambush. A small doorway to the right leads to a winding pathway that circles up the subterranean tower. “It sounds like it’s only thralls.”  
          “Shepard? What’s the plan?” Garrus follows at the end of the group, covering their flight as the screams get closer. “Is the gas going to be enough to take that thing down?”  
          “I doubt it. It’s is pretty damn big.” She skids to a halt, looking around. “We’re gonna need another way to deal with it.”  
          “It knows Saren’s plan, Commander. We can’t just destroy it – ”  
          “I know, Vakarian. But now we have to fight!” The screams are close – too close –and in the arc of her light, the first thralls appear, lunging and thrashing. It’s too late to worry about strategy – Shepard and Garrus move into formation, firing down the swollen infected. The bag on her back tugs as Tali grabs a canister out of it and throws it. It flies in a shaky arc and lands, hissing smoke.  
          In the main chamber, the asari puppet shouts more righteous fury after them, punctuated by the raspy screams of thrall after thrall. The cramped hallway funnels the attackers, but it’s a small comfort in the sheer numbers around them.  
          “This is not geth! I am out of my element here!” Tali shouts as she lobs another canister, then another in the opposite direction. “There are no programs to hack here!”  
          “Just keep throwing the gas!” Shepard shouts as she furiously reloads her pistol. Dammit, we’re only defending. _This is hardly a battle – it’s a siege._ But how many more thralls could it have? The shapes in the dark are all humanoid. ExoGeni had a very high permissible loss rate, it seems.  
          The next few thralls are mowed down, and Shepard keeps up the assault as Garrus bends down to reload. The disabling gas grows thick with no wind or rain to disperse it. Shepard attempts to track a darting shape through the white haze, loses it, then –  
          The thrall bursts thrashing through the fog, falling without having taken a single shot. The screams of the others can still be heard, but no further figures appear. Then, slowly, the cries start to cut off. Another figure collapses – and another.  
          Garrus stands, surveying the either side of them from behind his rifle. “Looks like this problem might be taken care of.”  
          “No shit.” Shepard waits for an attack that is not coming. “Tali, how many of those cans did you throw?”  
          “I don’t know!” Tali still holds yet another, running her hands over and over the metal surface. “I was just throwing them!”  
          Smirking behind her helmet, Shepard continues to wait. By now, the last of the cries have ended. Even the asari mouthpiece has fallen silent.  
          “Are we… heading back? To the plant?” Tali asks softly.  
          “Yes. Slowly.” Shepard says, keeping her pistol raised. Garrus likewise keeps his weapon ready, and even Tali holds the gas grenade held above her head, as if she plans to lob it directly at the first thrall she sees. “The Thorian got the jump on me the last time. I’m not going to let it happen again –”  
          A blue light flashes through her vision as shockwave of force barrels past and almost knocks the squad off their feet. The gas hanging in the air swirls around like a hazy whirlwind, blown about by the unseen force.  
           _Blue light. Biotic power,_ Shepard thinks, regaining her balance. _Coming from the Thorian._ Gasping, she dashes forward, rounding down the side walkway and back to the main room.  
          As she enters the Thorian’s chamber another biotic blast issues forth from the center. Shepard staggers to halt and braces against the wave, fighting to stay on her feet as it sweeps past her. The Thorian sways hard on its support vines, back and forth, back and forth. The suit light’s wide beam reveals that the bulb itself is a ruined mess, framed in the haze that slowly begin to refill the room.  
          “What… what the hell…” Shepard’s heart sinks to the bottom of her chest. “It was a biotic? It… killed itself?” _When it sensed all of its thralls dropping?_  
          “It was a _bosh’tet._ ” Tali says firmly, as if deciding the matter.  
          “It was working with Saren, Tali,” Garrus says, striding forward to observe the mess beside Shepard. “The whole reason he was here. It knew his plans.”  
          “And now we won’t know,” Shepard says flatly. The pistol feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, held limply at her side. “This whole trip was… for nothing.”  
          Only silence answers.  
          “Maybe… maybe my geth core will have something for you, Shepard,” Tali finally offers.  
          She doesn’t answer. There won’t be anything for her in the geth core – her luck won’t run that far. The slow, lumbering fury rises in her chest, too large to be swallowed down. The tightness in her chest, the pressure in her head, the ringing in her ears – Shepard’s pissed at all of it.  
          The asari rises shakily out of the mound of tangled roots, pushing herself up to a sitting position. The movement startles the squad, but she only watches calmly as they aim their weapons at her.  
          “Thank you, Shepard,” she says, pressing a hand against her chest and clearing her throat. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I say this with neither derision nor guile.”  
          “Who are you?” Shepard says, keeping her gun on the other woman. The shock of it shatters the anger and frustration in one clean blow. The side effects of the vision remain, but by now they are old friends. “What the – hell is going on here?”  
          “I will answer all of your questions, of course,” the asari says. “Please, only give me a moment. And take no offense that I would rather not stand.”  
          Shepard does wait, as patiently as she dares, as the asari closes her eyes for a moment and grimaces. After a few long seconds, she looks back to the squad and nods, folding her hands on her lap.  
          “I am Lady Shiala, a disciple of Matriarch Benezia,” she begins. The disbelief flares up hot in Shepard, but she keeps her silence as Shiala continues.  
          “I followed my fellow disciples with the Matriarch when she went on her mission to stop Saren. He sought after her daughter, the Lady Liara, for reasons unknown. Benezia worked to discover those reasons, and once uncovered, she worked to stop those plans as well. But we were corrupted. Our goals became his goals. We worked first to subvert, then to enable.”  
          “The power from his warship, right?” Shepard says. “The Soveriegn. Benezia told us about it, before – before she died.” _After I shot her._  
          “That is correct.” Shiala’s composure falters for a second, before she wrests it back. “Tell me, Shepard. Is Lady Liara safe?”  
          “She is.” This question compels Shepard to finally lower her gun. “She’s on board my ship. And she… got to see Benezia, right before she died.”  
          Tears track down the asari’s cheek, the same milky green color as Fai Dan’s. Before he killed himself. “I see. Then Lady Benezia’s death was not in vain. She wished to protect her daughter and stop Saren’s schemes. You carry out her will, Shepard. Her true will.”  
          Swallowing hard, Shiala glances to the huge bulb hanging limply above her. “Lady Benezia’s death was a heavy blow to Saren’s plans. He planned to take her here, after she was finished with the rachni queen. As her second in command, I was chosen to come in her stead.  
          “The Thorian sleeps here for thousands of years, only awakening occasionally. It enthralls whatever life forms inhabit the planet at the time, absorbing the minds of some of them. By the time it had awoken last, only humans remained, and it wished for more minds to feed upon – different than its current prey. So in return for aiding Saren – it wanted me. And because of my indoctrination, I agreed.”  
          “Saren’s quick to throw away his allies,” Shepard says. Her stomach gives a little twist.  
          “More so than you realize. He knows you pursue him, and so he sent the geth to destroy it, to prevent you from learning what he knows.”  
          “Why all of this for – for that?” Garrus interjects, motioning to the shredded bulb hanging above them. “What could it possibly know worth all this?”  
          “The Thorian has lived here for eons. The last it awoke, the Protheans lived here. And thus, it enthralled and absorbed their minds too,” Shiala says. “These Prothean psyches formed a kind of meta-knowledge within its mind. A filter to translate the information of their artifacts.”  
          Shepard’s heart starts a wild jackhammer beat in her chest. “Holy shit. He found a way.” _Only a Prothean can understand the visions. Liara said so herself._ It had always been the safety net – the one advantage that neither Shepard nor Saren could gain. _But the bastard found a way._  
          “I _needed_ that,” Shepard says, taking a ragged breath. She glares at the ruined form of the Thorian, then turns back on Shiala. “I have to know what the vision means if I’m going to stop him. And it can’t tell me if it’s _dead._ ”  
          “The Thorian told Saren nothing,” Shiala says. “The information was transferred using the biotic power of an asari. My power.”  
           _Memories can only be transferred to or from an asari._ “You have it.”  
          “You need not even ask, Commander,” Shiala draws herself up. “You need only to take off your helmet.”  
          Shepard strides forward, unfastening the helmet from the rest of her hardsuit. The harsh bitter smell of the gas hits her like a wave, but she doesn’t slow.  
          “Shepard –” Tali starts.  
          “Shepard, no.” Garrus moves between her and Shiala. “I’m not sure about this.”  
          “Garrus.” Shepard begins, staring down the blank black visor of his helmet. “What choice do we have?”  
          “She was working with _Saren._ ” Garrus raises a halting hand, in full C-Sec-Officer-Stand-Aside-Ma’am mode. “She could still be under this indoctrination control. Didn’t Benezia say it was irreversible? Listening to what she has to say is one thing. But letting her root around in your mind?”  
          “Normally, that is true,” Shiala says. Garrus doesn’t turn to look at her. “However, it seems the Thorian’s control is able to overwrite the Sovereign’s influence. Then, the chemicals from your gas shells disabled the Thorian itself, even as it began to absorb my mind. I was awakened while you fought, and I was only myself; so I… neutralized it with my biotics.”  
           _So that’s why it exploded._ Shepard leans to peer around Garrus to Shiala, then looks back to him. “She’s answered every question, and what she says verifies what Benezia told us, while she was lucid.”  
          Garrus doesn’t budge. “She’s still asking for a mind-meld, and that vision from the Eden Prime artifact has been taking too much of a toll on you already – ”  
          “Shepard is dying,” Shiala says, and now Garrus looks back at her. The asari sits serene amid the tangle of roots. “Saren was, too. Without the filter from the Thorian, her mind struggles not to interpret it but to even contain it. This transfer will render it benign.”  
          Now Garrus says nothing in return.  
          “Even if she’s totally wrong,” Shepard says, moving around him, “It’s still our only chance.” She approaches Shiala, who rises to her feet with much effort.  
          “On that note, I do have a warning. More so than any other race, humans instinctively resist mental interaction,” Shiala says, looking over Shepard like a patient instructor. “You must not fight. Your mind has gone through much already, carrying that vision like a hand carries a hot coal. You must relax.”  
           _Um. Right._ N7 training has no reference for an asari mind-meld, and the current directions seem a little vague.  
          Shepard nods.  
          Reaching out, Shiala puts two fingers against Shepard’s temple. “We are all connected, Shepard. Every living being in the universe exists as the cell in a body. What good and evil we do to others, we do to ourselves…”  
          The world seems to _shift_ around them, and now Shiala’s eyes look different – they look black…  
          “Embrace eternity.”  
          It’s like standing on the shore and seeing the tidal wave. Standing in a field and seeing the meteor illuminating the night sky. The house is on fire around her. Once in the freefall, she can only hit the ground. Something huge is coming, something to envelope her, replace everything. After it’s done, there will be nothing left. No way to escape, no way to survive, but _try, at least try, try…_

 

          Emergency message to all survivors. Update of Reaper progress. Relay to Avatars for further instruction. Do not broadcast over standard frequencies. DO NOT ANSWER THIS FREQUENCY.  
           _A bloody figure crawling on the ground. It stops, raising its hand to the sky._  
          Forces at Qana annihilated. Harvest completed. Occupied by Reaper powers. Status: lost. DISTRESS SIGNAL IS A DECOY DO NOT ANSWER REPEAT DO NOT ANSWER.  
           _A ruined city. A pile – a mountain of corpses before it. Stragglers wander its base like lost children._  
          Dhanen compromised. Imperial ranks infiltrated by indoctrinated. Harvest in progress. Status: lost.  
           _The bottom of a ship, landing in the middle of a metropolis. The segmented tentacles unfurl and reach downward._  
          Reaper ships seen beginning assault on Parakta. No distress signals sent. Status: Unknown. Presumed lost.  
           _The streets of a city, figures running, fleeing. The wall of flame behind them illuminates everything._  
          Feros harvest completed. Upper and lower cities purged. Status: lost.  
           _A planet on fire. Above it floats dark starships._  
          Trahe harvest completed. Avatar of Victory killed in action. Status: lost.  
          Emergency message complete. Relay to Avatars for further instruction. Do not broadcast over standard frequencies. DO NOT ANSWER –  
           _A flash, a skip._  
           _The image breaks down. The image reforms._  
           _A mass relay – smaller than the gargantuan monoliths that float in space. It sits on one end, the tuning-fork prongs rising high above the lush garden around it. A gentle stream runs by its base._  
          Attention: Emergency message to any survivors: Situation dire. The Conduit is the key. All survivors report to– 

 

          Pins and needles shiver through Shepard’s fingertips, down arms hanging limply at her sides. The ringing in her ears fades to graceful silence. The air spasms in her throat as she tries to take a breath and she clenches her jaw around the cough.  
           “She’s coming around. Tali, calm down.”  
          Shepard opens her eyes to the dark ceiling, half obscured by Garrus’ helmet. He holds her up, keeping her upper half off the floor. The position of her body, the sight of the faceless hardsuit helmet calmly observing her – through the diminishing daze – like déjà vu – it’s as if –  
           _The helmet tilts down to study her._  
           _This close she can see the vague outline of a face from behind the helmet’s visor._  
           _Oh, God. Is she really the only one? Only one survivor?_  
          And her body tenses up and –  
          It’s gone.  
          The sheer electric jolt of it snaps her out of the panic. The pressure, the pain, splitting through her head like a worm in an overripe fruit.  
          It’s all gone.  
          So constant, for so long. Only now that it’s gone can she realize how intense it was, how extreme each episode had to be to rise above the constant thrum of agony. The relief is so stark it almost seems uncomfortable itself.  
          Shepard squeezes her eyes shut and gasps in a breath, and for a brief second there is a very real risk it will degrade into sobs.  
          “Shepard! I knew that _bosh’tet_ was up to something!” Tali grabs one of Shepard’s hands and squeezes tightly. “We should have listened to Garrus! If he hadn’t caught you when you fell you would have cracked your head on the ground and your brains would be _everywhere!_ ”  
          “It’s – it’s okay, Tali,” Shepard hazards, but even she can hear the tremor in her own voice. “Shiala… it was like Shiala said. I can understand the vision, now.”  
          “And your symptoms?” Shiala’s voice, calm and steady.  
          “Better.” _There has never been a bigger fucking understatement in the history of the galaxy._  
          “You still need to get back to the Normandy – have Doctor Chakwas check you over,” Garrus says.  
          Shepard already knows it won’t have a point. She doesn’t care. “Sure. I swear. The second… we get back.” She attempts to stagger to her feet, and only succeeds because she has a squad member holding each arm. The images from the vision – she can recall them as easily and painlessly as snippets of her own memories.  
          “Shiala. The Conduit. What do you know of it?”  
          The asari is sitting back down on the floor, head bowed and shoulders sagging. “The memories that occurred while I was indoctrinated are very muddled. I only know that it was involved with the Prothean extinction, and Saren seeks it.” She pauses, then raises her head and nods to Shepard. “He was angry. He said the vision was incomplete. It does not have the Conduit’s location.”  
          “Y-yeah. Ended right at the last second.”  
          “I can only tell you that he does have leads. The rest of the vision is out there, and you have done well in coming even this far. You must stop him, Shepard. In my insanity, I thought that he was justified, but even knowing what little I do…” Suddenly her eyes have a hard, hooded look. “He is leading the galaxy to its doom. No one will be prepared to stop it.”  
           _I’m fighting fate,_ Shepard thinks yet again. “He has to find a Prothean artifact to get the rest of it. I know his next move.” She tries to sound assured. _Oh, just find another Prothean artifact? Because there’s so many of those lying around…_  
          “What about you, Lady Shiala?” Garrus asks her. The hard edge is gone from his voice. “Your indoctrination is gone for good?”  
          “I believe so. It… seems to very much be all or nothing. I would not like to test my resistance to it a second time around, however.” Shiala looks to Shepard. “If you seek redress for what I’ve done, I will not protest. I have done terrible things from beneath Saren’s dark shadow.”  
          The memory of Benezia’s last regretful moments resurfaces, and Shepard’s heart drops. “I’m not going to shoot you just after you get your sanity back. Especially after giving me the meta-memories from the Thorian, and answering all of our questions.”  
          She slowly draws her arms away from Garrus and Tali, testing her weight to her own two feet. “Well, how about it? What exactly would you do with this second chance?”  
          “I would stay, and help this colony.” Shiala says, giving the corpse of the Thorian one last look. “I was infected while it consumed me, the same as the humans up above. The Matron stage of my life wanes, and I studied under Benezia to prepare for the Matriarch phase – to guide, to protect. They will need help, and we are all tied together as thralls…”  
          “The Thorian’s dead,” Shepard says. “You’re all still affected?”  
          “It would seem so. Its control is gone. But I feel them, up above.” Shiala’s eyes slowly track upwards, as if she’s looking right at where the bodies of the colonists lie, sending a chill over Shepard. “As your chemical wears off, the spores re-awaken. We are free of the Thorian but bound to one another. And they will need an advocate against the parasites that put them here.”  
          “I won’t argue that,” Shepard says. A mere colony founder up against an asari Matriarch’s disciple? Shepard almost feels bad for ExoGeni. Almost. “The Alliance cruiser Perugia is on its way, but they’ll have my report. They’ll help you… however they can.”  
          Shiala draws herself up and rises to her feet. “Let us return to the surface, then. I swear I will look after the people here. And to you, Claire Shepard, I wish good hunting.”

          “This is a grievous offense, Commander Shepard,” the asari councilor says, brow furrowed and lips pressed. For her, it’s a lurid display of emotion. “ExoGeni did not ever bring knowledge of the Thorian forward to the galactic community.”  
           _Always the first to bring up cooperation and community,_ Shepard thinks, crossing her arms. _Or maybe she’s just angry someone hid something from the asari._  
          Then she thinks: _It’s all true. A fable of the geth. A ship, identical to Saren’s. The destroyers of the Protheans._ According to that vision, the Reapers are real.  
          And her stomach drops.  
          “It did seem like a fantastically unique life-form,” the salarian adds solemnly. “I must wonder if there was a possibility to capture it. The things we might have learned…”  
           _The Reapers, you bastards!_ “It was a plant that was capable of enslaving anything around it with neural spores, and it absorbed minds as a pastime. And, for what it’s worth, it seemed to have a very high opinion of itself.” It’s a waste of breath, of course; they’ve read the reports. They know what the Alliance knows, what her crew knows.  
          They know about the Reapers.  
          “Yes. It is good to hear that the colony is now under the protection of the Alliance,” the asari says, returning to the very picture of serenity. “It is good that you were able to save- to _help_ those people.”  
          “Augh!” The turian councilor’s first contribution to the conversation is exasperation, as always. “Of course she helped a colony that was well past helping. They were humans.”  
          “Their being human had nothing to do with it,” Shepard says sharply. “I would have helped anyone in that situation, and you know that.”  
          She wants to scream and shout at them; _The Reapers, what about the goddam Reapers! Who cares about the rest of it?!_ Even ignoring all of that, they know about Saren – his ship, his schemes – they know he’s searching for Prothean artifacts. And any found Prothean tech is required to be revealed to Citadel government. If there’s anyone in the galaxy with the power to help her now, it’s the Council.  
          “Helping anyone. Yes. A very admirable attitude, especially for a Spectre,” the salarian says.  
          “It’s naïve,” the turian counters, staring her down.  
          “We hope that all missions you face end so neatly,” the asari councilor concludes smoothly. “Good luck on your future endeavors, Shepard.”  
          Without a second wasted the holograms blink off. Shepard exhales the breath she was holding, lets the tension go. _End so neatly?_ An entire colony, infected with spores, tortured, hidden away, attacked by geth. The slow burn of anger triggers a quick fear that she’ll provoke another round of visions, until she remembers that pain is gone forever. The images come back, bloody and gruesome, but that’s all they are.  
          These images. Death. War. _Is this what Saren wants? Why?_ The blind scrabbling just fuels the fire. She’s going to find out – then she’s going to stop it.  
          “Commander. Were they impressed?” Joker pipes up through her personal comm. “You did mention the part about screaming zombies attacking the ship with their bare hands? I’d be impressed.”  
          Past the jovial words his voice is a little strained. He had been listening during the mission debriefing too, after all. Even alone in the ship’s helm, he had probably looked the same as the rest of the crew; grim faces, wide eyes, as she told them.  
           _It’s true. It’s all true._  
           _They're real._  
          “They didn’t seem any more or less moved than normal, Joker,” Shepard says, forcing a wry note into her tone. “They didn’t even care about – about any of it.” She almost says it: _About the Reapers._ But she doesn’t. Everyone’s still reeling, still digesting. Let them take it in for now, come to terms with it while they’re all on the safety of the Normandy.  
          “Ah, sounds about right. Nobody appreciates a good N7 mission nowadays, amirite, Commander?” He warms up a bit to the ribbing, ignores her little falter.  
          “Well, we’re not done yet. We’ll see how they feel after all this is over.” _If we succeed. As if there’s a future for us if we fail._ She didn’t mean it to sound so fatalistic, but it’s too late to take it back. Joker does not answer, so she adds, “You always seem to chime in after these Council meetings. What’s up with the uncanny timing?”  
          “Oh, it’s no big deal,” Joker says airily. “I can just sense when you’re about the cry. It’s like a… mother-daughter thing.”  
          It does the trick – before she can contain herself Shepard laughs, pressing her hand to her mouth. Finally she manages to stifle it as she heads for the exit of the comm room. “Duly noted. I’ll include it in the year-end performance report.”  
          She turns the corner out of the comm room, heading for the elevator and heading down the short stairs that wind behind the elevator. She promised Garrus she’d go to the med bay, and she’s going to make good on it –  
          “Shepard. Commander. A moment?” Alenko’s waiting in the mess deck, sitting alone at one of the tables. He stands and stalks over, crossing his arms.  
          “Alenko,” Shepard says. “Of course.” She can already see the dark cloud over him. It seems strange compared to his usual cheerful demeanor.  
          “Ma’am.” He grits his jaw. “Permission to speak freely. Off the record.”  
          “Of course, Alenko.” Unlike Ashley, Kaidan’s request sparks no reservations.  
          He still hesitates one last time. “They were just wasting time with that meeting, weren’t they? Just like always. This is just going to get worse and worse, and it’s still just us on our own.”  
          “You’re not wrong, Kaidan,” Shepard says. “Unfortunately. We’re working blind. But we’ve got to see it through, regardless.”  
          “I don’t doubt it. I just can’t… wrap my head around it, Commander.” He holds both his palms up, entreating. “Even if we count out the Council, it feels like _someone_ should be helping us. Even including the Alliance, everything’s just been coming from Anderson.”  
          The mention of the name makes her miss the man himself. She wonders what he would have done differently in all this. “Don’t let this sour your opinions on the galaxy as a whole. We’re doing this for them, aren’t we? And we do have people helping us, even it’s not the brass at the top.”  
          For a moment Kaidan looks honestly bewildered. “Well, of course, Commander. I didn’t mean it like that. We’ve only gotten this far with everyone’s help.” He pauses, then a dry smile wrests its way through his gloom. “I’m not Chief Williams, Commander. If anything, all this is just another example of how all these different aliens can act so… human. A little something I’ve already learned.”  
          “Is that so?” Shepard doesn’t bother to hide her curiosity. Anything off the subject of their own hopeless situation would be welcome. _Anything off the subject of Reapers._ “Care to share the Alenko wisdom?”  
          The smile fully breaks through; he’s practically grinning. Almost back to normal Kaidan. “Ah. It was a… turian instructor I had, back when I was a kid learning how to control my biotic power. Do you really want to hear this story?”  
          She cocks her head to the side. “I do.”  
          “Well, okay…” he motions back to the table, and waits for her to sit before he follows. “Short version is… Back after the Alliance was first forming, biotic development ended up being taken under the authority of a private company – Conatix Industries. So they take me, along with a bunch of other kids, and we’re shipped off to this station to learn about our amazing new psychic powers. But they didn’t have any more of a clue how to handle biotics than the Alliance did, so they brought in some mercenary to help oversee training.”  
          “And he was a turian? Their culture’s not that fond of biotics in general,” Shepard says. “And wouldn’t this have been right after the First Contact War? Our two sides weren’t exactly friends.” _Hell, it’s barely cooled off now._  
          “Ha! You’re probably thinking that they should have found an asari, right? Natural biotic. Well, the bottom line is king, Commander. The turian came cheapest.” Kaidan raises his eyebrows. “And he was an _asshole_. He used hunger and thirst as incentive, and there were more than a few accidents. Everyone in the program was coming out a wreck. Or, y’know. Dead. Eventually…”  
          Kaidan stops, scratches the back of his head. “There was another trainee there. Rahna. I guess you could say we were… friends.” His tone suggests this is not quite accurate. “Anyways. One time, she goes to reach for a glass of water. With her hands. Just wanted a drink without the risk of a nosebleed.”  
          “He wanted her to use her biotics to move the glass.”  
          “Right on. So he breaks her arm. Bone poking out and everything.” The words are cheerful and conversational.  
          He doesn’t go on. “What the hell?! And?” Shepard presses, incredulous. “Don’t tell me Conatix swept it under the rug.”  
          “Oh, they swept plenty under the rug, Shepard. But not what you’re thinking. I… sort of lost it. Attacked him with a push of biotics. He retaliates, I retaliate, and….” He shrugs, glances to the ground. “It ended… when he was killed, ma’am.”  
          “Holy hell.” She takes a breath. “If you hadn’t, would he have killed you?”  
          “I don’t doubt it. I mean, I wouldn’t have been the first. Killing with your bare hands, killing with exhaustion and biotic accidents. It was all just… different ways of dropping out. I was lucky, I guess. He was just a mercenary, not some active member of the Hierarchy. They hid what happened with me, but… they also hid what happened to all those other kids. Everything there was struck from the records.”  
          “Is that when the Alliance took over biotic training?” Shepard asks.  
          “Yup. They shut it down, founded Grissom Academy to replace it.”  
          Shepard can only shake her head. “Grissom is the best biotic school humanity has – the first big win for the Alliance. And all that was because – of what happened with you.”  
          “It was nothing like that, ma’am,” Kaidan says. “I was just trying to protect a friend. Bastards lock us in a space station with a power-tripping alien, and act surprised when it ends like that.” He exhales loudly. “But the point of all this, I guess, is that it taught me something else, too. That turian was an asshole, but I can’t be mad at all turians for what he did. Or I’d have to mad at humanity for the humans who hired him in the first place, then turned a blind eye. Human, not human, whatever. We’re all just… people.”  
          “Well, that’s a relief, Lieutenant,” Shepard says flatly. “It’s a reasonable view to take.”  
          “Heh. It’s not that much of a relief,” Kaidan says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Reasonable is all I have left. And saying that they’re acting human isn’t really a compliment. Feels like everyone around me is more comfortable with the short-sighted approach.” He melodramatically clears his throat. “Present company excluded, of course.”  
          “Present company didn’t interpret it that way until you brought it up,” Shepard says, raising an eyebrow.  
          He laughs. “You know, we’ve usually been having these little talks in the med bay. You must really be feeling better.”  
          She stalls. Now that she’s free of the pain, it seems pointless to deny. “Yeah. I guess I am. And Alenko? It might just be us, but we’re going to be ok. We know we’re looking for another artifact, and we’ve got Anderson gunning for us back on the Citadel.”  
          “Right,” Kaidan says, crossing his arms and giving a nod. He stands and takes a step back. “And we’ve got you down here directing the war party. It’s like you’re always saying – we’ll see it through. Sorry for the pity party, ma’am.”  
          “It’s fine, Alenko. All we can do now is make sure when Anderson calls with the good news, we’re fully prepared.”  
          But Shepard watches him as he departs – the stiff square of his shoulders, head bowed. _He doesn’t believe it. Not really._  
          “Alenko.” She stands as he stops and turns around, waiting for her to speak. For a second she falters, then – “We _can_ do this.”  
          He pauses. Then he nods, after what feels like an eternity. “Of course, Commander.” Then he continues on.  
          She’s not sure if it even helped. But what can be said? _It’s not like we’ve been getting any swift decisive victories. Every mission is just a fight for scraps. We’re struggling just to keep up._  
           _No._  
          She’s not allowed to give up hope. She’s the commander, the cornerstone. If she loses it, the rest of them are going to fall like a house of cards. No matter what, she has to believe that they can do this. That she can do this.  
          As if in answer, the vision flashes back across her mind. Not just a vision. A warning. To survivors. Of a war from the losing side. And a ship that looks like Saren’s.  
          And then that final thought, the one that she keeps circling back to. The one that brings horror and fury in equal parts.  
           _The Reapers are real._


	13. Good As Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -HAPPY N7 DAY EVERYONE-  
> **As a general announcement, this story is COMPLETED. I have been posting slower than I write and my backlog eventually hit its limit. That's right, this thing is DONE! So in celebration of N7 day and Mass Effect Andromeda, after today I will be posting new chapter every few days until the end!**
> 
> Ok, now for the actual chapter notes.
> 
> -This is another one of those "really important sidequests" I fleshed out. I changed the "fight off waves of enemies"; the whole zombie thing was already done with the Thorian and I think the hospital-crawl aspect of it is actually creepier. 
> 
> \- I waffled back and forth on putting in the religion thing with Ashley. It didn't help that I inexplicably lost the notepad file with the notes that contained that conversation with her, among other things. But I feel like it's a vital aspect to her character, like Thane and Samara's spirituality later, so in it goes. 
> 
> \- I know in the infamous ME3 "photostock" picture of Tali, quarians are basically just purple humans... but with all due respect fuck that noise.The little bit described in this chapter is based off of Matt Rhodes' earlier concept art versions. I know those aren't as popular because she's kinda sickly and bald but eh I just wish one of the alien girls actually looked like ALIENS.

          The hardsuit gauntlet-shoulder piece is heavy and cool in her hands as Shepard exits the elevator and heads across the empty storage bay to her locker. After the constant assault on Feros, suit check had taken much longer than usual this time around, but the battle armor had done its job. The impressive bruise just below her collarbone is all she has to show for the direct hit she suffered on the Prothean tower.  
          It was a small price to pay for what she’d gained. The medical checkup had given her a clean bill of health like always, but Shepard herself already knew – her symptoms were gone, her health returned. A second chance, to –  
          To what? There was nothing. No leads from anyone: Council, Alliance, or dumb luck. The newly translated vision has only served to spur her onward – and now she has nowhere to go.  
          The Normandy is an hour back from its refueling trip from the fuel depot in the Kepler Verge cluster. This sector is dangerously close to Terminus space, a fact that had caused more than a few snide remarks from Joker. But the trip is necessary – it will be a long trip back to the heart of civilized space.  
          And then what? _Fly in cute circles around the Citadel? Send impatient messages to Admiral Hackett? Petition to the Council?_ None of it will work. Once they get back, she’ll have to face the bitter truth.  
          Shepard, N7 marine, Alliance Commander, Council Spectre – has no direction to go.  
          She’s halfway across the dim storage bay when she hears the giggle – young, female. Her heart jumps into her throat at the sound, and she freezes. A moment later, a young woman’s voice speaks.  
          “We saw a special on the Normandy! We even recorded it! It was _so. Cool._ Dad’s gonna love hearing about it.”  
          The quality is tinny and far-off sounding. _A recording._ It comes from beyond the covered form of the Mako-class all-terrain vehicle stored at the corner of the bay. Now that she’s paying attention, Shepard can see the faint glow from behind the Mako’s silhouette.  
           _What’s this?_ Still holding the hardsuit piece, Shepard makes her way towards the combat vehicle on silent footsteps.  
          “Your commanding officer is so pretty! How did she get that scar through her eyebrow? Is she nice or mean?”  
           _Nice,_ Shepard thinks wryly as she rounds the Mako.  
          “And her lieutenant – Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko?” Ashley sits hunched over her left arm, watching a video on her omni-tool. Shepard can see the holographic screen from over Ashley’s shoulder. A woman – early twenties at the absolute most, her skin only a bare shade lighter than Ashley’s – grins from the grainy recording and presses her palms against her cheeks. “He’s so cute. You have to make a move. You guys would be _adorable_ together.”  
          Shepard clears her throat.  
          The omni-tool screen blinks off as Ashley whirls to her feet, gasping out loud. “I – I was just – It’s just mail from home – oh, oh damn it.” She swallows heavily. “I am so busted, huh?”  
          Shepard manages to hold back the grin. “For watching mail? You’re fine, Williams. But…” She shifts the gauntlet in her arms to motion to the vehicle. “Why the hiding behind the Mako?”  
          “I couldn’t find a spot with some privacy,” Ashely says. “Liara’s reading a bunch of research stuff in the crew quarters, Tali’s in Engineering like always, Wrex and Garrus are arguing about war strategies on the mess deck, and Kaidan is – “ Her eyes widen and she swallows again. “Please don’t tell the Staff Lieutenant what my sister said. I don’t want it to seem like - He’s not fraternizing.”  
          “Calm down, Ashley. Lieutenant Alenko isn’t in trouble; you’re not either.” Shepard crosses her arms but loses control of the grin. “But… do you think he’s cute or not? I could put in a good word for you if you want.”  
          “I – ah –” Ashely stammers, then purses her lips. “You’re horrible.”  
          “You’re horrible…?” Shepard raises her eyebrows.  
          “You’re horrible, ma’am!” Ashley finishes.  
          Shepard laughs. This conversation is a far cry from the interaction after Luna. “In all seriousness, Williams… You’ll get no disapproval from me. It’s good that your family is important to you.”  
          “I’m lucky to have them, ma’am,” Ashley agrees. “We were all always close, you know? I helped my mom raise my sisters while my dad was away on active duty.”  
          “Is it a big family?”  
           “I’m eldest of four girls. He always said he loved coming home to the ’girly horde’, and when –” She halts suddenly, searching over Shepard’s face.  
          “What?” Shepard stares back.  
          “It’s just… sorry. Here I am, yammering on about my family,” Ashley says. “And you lost yours on Mindoir.”  
          The planet’s name sparks a quick, dull flash of pain, and then it’s gone. “Williams, relax. I’m the one who asked. I didn’t take it that way.”  
          “Ugh. I’m glad.” Ashley’s brow furrows. “I’m great at headshots from a hundred meters. I’m even better at shoving my damn foot in my mouth when I talk to commanding officers. I guess I still haven’t learned better.” Sighing heavily, Ashley types the prompts in her omni-tool to close out her mail, brow furrowed.  
          Shepard raises her eyebrows. “She mentioned your dad – retired military, I’m guessing? You haven’t told him about your transfer to the Normandy?”  
          “Uh… technically retired, I guess. He passed away a few years ago. I still go back to his grave to fill him in from time to time. And keep up the tradition – he had this favorite poem, and he’d recite this one line every time he got home from deployment – ”Her eyes fall to the ground, and she recites in a half-whisper, “ _‘For always roaming with a hungry heart, much have I seen and known.’_ ”  
          “That’s… Tennyson,” Shepard says, nonplussed. “ _Ulysses_ , right?”  
          “Right – you know about it!” Ashley says. “I still read it to – to his grave, every time I visit home. Even if his soul’s gone on, I know that he’s happy I’m keeping up the tradition.”  
          Ashley halts again, and Shepard raises an eyebrow. “Williams? What am I offended about now?”  
          “Ah, it’s just…” Her expression hardens a little bit. “I’ve had CO’s give me crap for the whole religion thing. Like a belief in God, or – the afterlife makes me less of a soldier. I was… actually planning to never bring it up around you.”  
           _But you did anyways._ The exasperation rises in Shepard despite her best efforts. “Do I really seem like that kind of commander, Williams? Give me some credit here.” Again Ashley doesn’t answer, so she adds, “And for the record, your beliefs are your own. If it doesn’t interfere with your duties, it’s really none of my business.”  
          Ashley takes a breath. “Ma’am. I know – and – Look, I’m sorry – ”  
          “Commander Shepard?” Joker says over the storage bay’s PA. “Requesting your presence on the helm. Ma’am.”  
          Shepard glances up to the speakers. “Something going on, Moreau?”  
          “Ah. Just… come see for yourself.”

 

          Joker looks up from the Normandy’s master console as Shepard strides through the helm, Ashley close behind. Even as they enter, Shepard can already see the issue glaring through the helm windows.  
          The starship is long and thin, with two flat rectangular wings running along its length. They’re not for navigation, though – the structures are meant for occupancy –  
           “A hospital ship?” Shepard crosses her arms. “Human model.” She looks to Joker.  
           “It’s flying under MSV designation. _The Fedele._ ”  
          “The MSV Fedele.” She looks back to the ship. It’s dark, drifting. Dead. “A hospital ship is flying under _Merchant_ Space Vessel designation? This close to Terminus space? Did anyone hail?”  
          Joker points a finger at Shepard. “Yes. I got an SOS hail from a guy who says he’s one of the doctors. A salarian. Requested a pickup, but can’t put any other staff on the line, and won’t tell me what happened. Says he’s the only one.”  
          Shepard’s gaze slowly drops back down to Joker with every word, and he holds up both hands in exasperation. “Hey! I told him I’d alert my commanding officer, _which I just did._ Now what?”  
          “We’re flying under Alliance colors,” Shepard muses, half to herself. “No pirates would be dumb enough to bait and switch a major military vessel.”  
          No one replies, because there is nothing to say. None of it makes any sense. “So he didn’t tell you anything? Not even a name?”  
          “Oh, I got a name all right,” Joker says. “The cherry on the weird sundae. He says it’s Doctor R. Heart.”  
          Shepard’s stomach drops with a nauseating whirl. Doctor Heart. For a second she can only flounder. “Heart? You’re sure he said that?”  
          “Yes, Commander. I thought the same thing you’re thinking now – ” He puts a thoughtful hand to his chin – “’That’s not very salarian!’”  
           _That’s not what I’m thinking, Joker._ Shepard opens her personal comm and waits for the single agonizing moment it takes to connect.  
           _It can’t be. There’s no way. I’m remembering what I heard all wrong._  
           _In all the fucking galaxy…_  
          “Commander?” Garrus’ voice answers back in her ear. “What can I do for you?”  
          “Vakarian. That geneticist you told me about. One of those aliases you got back, one of them was Heart, right? Doctor Heart?”  
          “Yes. Why? What did – ?” He falters. “No. There’s no way.”  
           _My thoughts exactly._ “Don’t get your hopes up, Vakarian. But do go get suited up. Be at the airlock in ten.”  
          He doesn’t even reply as the comm clicks off.  
          “Shepard?” Ashley finally steps forward. “What’s this about?”  
          “A… a serial killer, who escaped into Terminus space,” Shepard says, looking back to the hospital ship, drifting lifelessly in the vast expanse of space. “One that Officer Vakarian has been looking for. Maybe.” _It can’t be._  
          “Holy shit.” Ashley watches the starship filling the view almost warily.  
          Joker works at the console, inputting commands and watching feedback. “Makes as much sense as anything else. Yikes.”  
          Shepard straightens to leave the helm – to go find Alenko and suit up too. After they board they can –  
          “Ma’am. Requesting permission to come along.”  
          “Williams?”  
          Ashley stands tall and straight. The model Alliance soldier. “Commander Shepard. I want – to help. You and Vakarian.”  
          For a second, Shepard only stares. Her words are halting, uncertain. But she’s eager. _She’s only hesitating because she thinks I’m going to say no. She… means it._  
          “Permission granted. Go get your gear.” She glances back to Joker. “Moreau. Begin docking procedures. Tell the doctor we’re coming aboard.”  
          “Hmm, Commander. He said he wanted a pickup, not an extraction. Seemed pretty insistent.” Joker’s tone is melodramatically solemn.  
           _He doesn’t want us on the ship? I see._ “He’ll get over it. Prepare for docking.”

 

          The airlock doors offer up minimal resistance as Shepard wrenches them aside. _The ship would have gone into lockdown when it lost power. Docked with the Normandy, it’s out of lockdown now for evacuation._ The hallway leading to the main ship is dark – not even the emergency lighting is functional.  
          “Even the auxiliary power’s down?” Ashley’s noticed it too. They follow Shepard down the long connection hallway that leads to the main body of the ship. Only the lights from their suits lead the way. “How long was he drifting out here?”  
          “Can’t have been long,” Garrus says flatly. “A defenseless ship so close to wild space? This thing is begging to get looted.”  
          Shepard doesn’t answer. All three of them have their guns at the ready; it’s too damn close to Terminus to take any chances. At this point, Shepard’s not sure what she’s expecting: sole surviving doctor of an ill-fated hospital ship? Gruesome murderer from Vakarian’s past? Sudden ambush by very ambitious raiders?  
          The next set of double doors slide open with barely any resistance.  
          The room should have been the main hub of the hospital. _Should have._ The space is crammed with gurneys, hospital beds, long whole-body incubators. Each one has a form – human and asari and salarians. Turians bodies tall and lanky out of their usual hardsuit armor. Even the lifeless bulk of a krogan. Some are covered by stained drapes of cloth, others are completely exposed.  
          Naked. Flayed. Dissected. Dismembered.  
          The various displays are lit by a series of industrial bulbs strung along at haphazard points, casting everything in a sickly orange glow.  
          “Holy _shit_.” Ashley says. Behind the opaque shine of her visor, her eyes are wide. “I am… so fucking glad we’re wearing helmets.”  
          It’s an effort to move past the threshold of the foyer. Shepard takes the first step, then the second, surveying the room from beyond her pistol. An open freezer is filled with jars. In each jar is an organ, floating in cloudy solutions. Some are exotic, alien, and others are very familiar.  
          There’s no clear path through the jumble, so they pick their way through the room, moving slow and deliberate as to avoid touching anything in the silent dark. At point, Shepard halts before a gurney covered with a heavy cloth. The shape is slender. _Human? Asari maybe?_ Carefully she nudges it out of the way with her free hand. The cloth doesn’t quite cover the naked arm, bound roughly to the side of the gurney. Pallid skin, narrow hand, thumb, index finger – then a second finger, much longer. Each digit is tipped with stark white nails. The elongated hands looks eerily familiar, and then she realizes -  
           _A quarian. He got a quarian._ A pilgrim from the Migrant Fleet.  
          “They’re all… fresh. Mostly.” Ashley says. Her voice quavers as the beam of her hardsuit light spotlights two men – _one human, one salarian._ Heavy straps bind them to the gurneys, side by side, and heavy-needle probes stick in the opened tops of their heads. The monitors attached nearby show flat lines – but the history windows began with jagged activity. “None are – rotting, I mean. So this is all…”  
          “It’s all recent.” Shepard halts, surrounded completely by the grisly displays. “So, now we know he wasn’t stranded here long. Looks like he was rerouting auxiliary power to supply all of… this.”  
          “Normandy to Commander.”  
          “Joker. Shepard here.”  
          Joker clears his throat. “The good doctor Heart has refused to answer any of my hails since we docked. Based on the layout of this ship’s class, the main comm room should be… here.” The directions pop up across her hardsuit HUD.  
          “Thanks, Joker. The less time I spend here, the better.”  
          “Pretty bad, huh?”  
          Shepard’s suit-light illuminates a row of three cadaver tables. Three bodies – _three women_ – asari, human, turian lie naked and uncovered. The top half of their bodies is dissected away at various levels. The turian woman’s face is flayed almost down to the bone - the dermal plates, the outer mandible – are all cleanly removed. From their distance the lipless grins of the human and asari look ghoulishly identical.  
          “Yeah. Pretty bad.”  
          Wide double doors on either side of them lead to the patient wards of the ship – the small windows reveal nothing but pitch darkness beyond. _Does this extend to the whole ship?_ The chill shivers down Shepard’s spine and then back up to her shoulders. The wide array of equipment, the haphazard mess – _He was moving things from the medical wings to here after the ship lost power._ But there was no way all this could be everything from the entire ship…  
          Shepard makes a beeline for the doors indicated by her directions. Every visual sweep to left and right reveal the same thing – no foes, but plenty of – a table holds several racks, filled with long stoppered vials. Each rack holds a different blood sample, with every race represented; dark cobalt blue, deep violet, pale green, and damning crimson. Shepard looks away.  
          The doors to the comm room are closed, they refuse to open, even with Shepard’s best efforts. Although the lockdown should have been disarmed, the doors are still sealed by the ship itself. Frowning, Shepard activates her omni-tool and starts isolating the security processes.  
          “He was able to override the evacuation protocols to lock the door?” Ashley stands with her gun held awkwardly to one side, crowded by a gurney with stained sheets covering the cadaver. “Pretty smart.”  
          “Not smart enough.” Shepard’s infiltrator programs are breezing through the basic civilian firewalls almost automatically. “We’ll be in after a second. Then we’ll find out what’s going on here.” _As if that’s under any debate._ She remembers her talk with Garrus about the C-Sec case, at the gun bench in the Normandy’s bay. Garrus’ two-toned voice, saying: _But there’s no way he stopped what he was doing. And if he didn’t have to hide from C-Sec scrutiny, what else could he have gotten up to-?_  
          “It’s a playground.” The flat, dead quality actually pulls Shepard’s attention away from both the omni-tool, and the roomful of nightmares. Garrus stands behind her and Williams, cradling his assault rifle. “He picked these people up in Terminus. He could do whatever he wanted. There was no one to stop him.”  
          “That’s what we’re doing, Vakarian.”  
          “As if it matters now.” His words come dark and slow, practically a drawl, and the turian flanging tone through the suit speaker makes him sound painfully hoarse. “We’re not even close.”  
          “No.” Shepard gives the word as much calm force as she can. “We’re better than close. This guy escaped into Terminus – as good as gone. You said as much yourself. The odds of us finding him were astronomical. And yes, the first _day_ that this began was a day too long, but now. It. Ends.”  
          Her omni-tool beeps. The doors give a little pop as the pneumatic pressure releases.  
          Waving them towards the door, Shepard opens the entry to the comm room and steps inside. Her footsteps echo in the darkened room, backlit by the fuzzy orange glow of the bulbs in the main lobby. She scans the room with her pistol.  
          After a few still seconds, the dark red salarian creeps forward out of the shadow, bowing his head and blinking his huge frog-like eyes. “Ah, the Alliance! I was stuck out here for days after the drive core failed! Even worse, to be this close to Terminus space!” He crosses the edge of comfortable personal space, and Shepard sharply raises the pistol.  
          Taking prudent steps back, the salarian continues his frantic banter. “I knew sending the SOS hails were a gamble, but I’m glad I did. Thank you so much, miss…?”  
          “That’s _Commander_ ,” Shepard says calmly, slowly lowering the gun.  
          “Commander – ah, yes – you should know that – ”  
          “Doctor Saleon. So good to see you again.” Garrus steps forward, keeps the assault rifle pointed straight at his target.  
          The salarian freezes. “S-s-sir. That’s not my name. Please lower your gun – ”  
          “This is him, Shepard.”  
          “ – I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve never met this man before. Please silence him – ”  
          “Hah. Funny,” Garrus says. “Let’s get to the part where I get to take your body apart. I’m sure it won’t take long.” He takes a step forward. The rifle barrel raises, just a bit -  
          “Garrus.” Shepard lowers her gun the rest of the way. “Do not fire that gun.” Garrus’ face is hidden behind the helmet of his hardsuit, and for some reason Shepard wishes she could see his face. _Not like that would help me read him._ “That’s an order.” She hazards a look to Saleon, who in turn watches the gun pointed at him.  
          “Doctor Saleon, you can cut the act. The little walk over here was very... revealing.” _Ugh, not a good choice of words, Shepard._ She glances back just enough to ensure Williams is present. Ashley stands ready with her gun pointed safely at the floor, awaiting her orders. Turning back to Saleon, Shepard finishes, “If this is all some kind of drastic misunderstanding,” –her tone says exactly how likely she thinks that is – “Then you have nothing to worry about. I’m taking you in to Alliance custody for – ”  
          “What?” Garrus cries. “You’re just going to let him get away?”  
          The irritation flashes up hot. Not a familiar feeling when dealing with Garrus. “I said I was taking him in. As opposed to what? Just shooting him?”  
          “Yes! He’s a monster, Commander!”  
          “And we’ll never know what he’s done if we kill him,” Shepard says firmly. Motioning towards the open door behind them, to the open lobby filled to capacity with corpses, she adds, “You said that you wanted to know what he’d done. This is our chance. And we won’t have a better chance than – ”  
          Saleon lunges forward in a flash of desperate movement. But Garrus already has his rifle at the ready, only slightly lowered during his argument with Shepard. The assault rifle chatters out its fire, and the salarian falls even as Shepard raises and fires her own pistol out of reflex. A cheap handgun falls out of his grip, never fired.  
          “Holy shit,” Ashley says, taking hasty steps forward to kneel next to the body. That many shots, so close, against a salarian? Shepard already knows the outcome. Ashley stands. “He wanted to take us on with some Saturday Night Special?”  
          “He didn’t even have a kinetic shield,” Shepard says flatly. “He wanted us to shoot him himself.”  
          “Unbelievable,” Garrus says darkly, lowering the rifle. “So much for taking him in. See? It didn’t matter. He’s dead now anyways.”  
           _I’m on a mission with Vakarian and Williams, and it’s Vakarian that needs to be talked down?_ Not what she expected, but here it is. “It does matter, Garrus. It matters because we at least gave him a chance. He made his own choices, and we can’t control that.”  
          “But he’s still _dead_ ,” Garrus says. “The only difference is his choice – ”  
          “And his choice is _everything_ ,” Shepard interjects. “Now in the report I send in, I put that he was killed assaulting Alliance personnel. Otherwise, I would have said, ‘Well, we found the bastard, and decided now was a good a time as any, then we shot him.’ How is that professional? How is it at least trying to do right by his victims? I’m here for justice, Vakarian. Not revenge.”  
          “Justice.” Garrus repeats the word, shaking his head sharply. “And how will you do that now, exactly?”  
          Shepard’s already typing the commands on her omni-tool. “I’m going to tag this ship for Alliance pickup. They’re going to investigate the hell out of it, track down any leads it has, and report everything back to the Citadel. And most importantly, they’re going to give each and every one of those bodies their culturally proper last rites. At least at the very end, they can have some fucking dignity.”  
          It’s a struggle keeping her voice even – this new darkness in him unnerves her. This man has kept his unshakeable calm through the unimaginable, and now he’s sinking. _It’s too close to him. I asked him for a memorable mission, and this is what he told me._  
           _The one thing he couldn’t let go of._  
           _His failure._  
           _Shit._  
           _Bringing him here was a mistake._  
          Her stomach twists back and forth at the thought. There was no way for this to end cleanly for him. His peace with it had been stolen when the doctor escaped the first time. All of the bodies on the ship lead back to a single belayed order.  
          His belayed order.  
          The commands finally finish executing. Shepard casually steps over the body, towards the door and the horrific room just beyond. “Back to the Normandy. We’ve done all we can here.”  
          They pick their way back through the impromptu path created through the gurneys and equipment. The still forms surrounding them cast long shadows in the bare-bulb light. Not just the experiments of a madman – they’re all people. Defiled people, watching the soldiers depart.  
           _He’s gone now,_ Shepard thinks, without being quite sure who she’s thinking to. _It’s over, he’s gone, and my people will see to your bodies. Please rest. Please let Garrus rest._  
          No one answers.

          The airlock doors gently close behind them, sealing them in the welcome normalcy of the Normandy. Shepard reaches up to take off her helmet, to embrace clear air and ship-space shared with the living.  
          “Commander.” Garrus says. The reverberant voice is devoid of emotion. He stares straight ahead, still fully suited. “Dismissed?”  
          Shepard shakes her head, freeing her hair from the helmet as she lifts it. She’s never before required a formal dismissal after returning to the Normandy. Keeping her own voice flat, Shepard answers, “Dismissed.”  
          He turns and leaves without further ado, stalking through the CIC to the heart of the ship. Shepard watches him go, tucking her helmet under one arm. Turians usually aren’t a people to let their emotions get the better of them – she’s at a loss of how to handle this exactly. It doesn’t help that this is a new side to a person that she more or less thought she had figured out.  
          The exasperation rises even as she thinks it. _Figured him out? He’s a turian. Don’t be naïve._  
          Holding back a sigh, Shepard throws Ashely a quick glance. The other woman removes her own helmet, stone-faced. Her eyes look towards the helm door, but not really seeing. Deep in thought.  
          “Williams,” Shepard says softly.  
          Her head snaps up. “Ma’am?”  
          “Thanks for the backup during that one.”  
          Ashley nods – not unappreciative, but… distracted. “Thanks… Commander.”  
          Shepard studies her solider for another moment, sees the hesitation. “Are you all right?”  
          “Yeah. I’m all right. It’s just...” Ashley’s gaze focuses back to Shepard, and the stony look falls away completely. “All those people.... They’re not there. Their souls have gone on, to whatever is waiting next. No pain.”  
           “Yes, Chief. No pain.”  
          “Ma’am. I don’t know much about… how any of them would have dealt with death. And I can’t even know if any of them actually believed in the afterlife. But… would it be bad to say prayer for them? I don’t know what gods aliens have, but I do know that I can at least put in a good word with mine.”  
          “No, Williams. That’s not bad at all.” Ashley is affected, grieving – but coping. The relief cools most of the unease glowering in her chest. But not all.

 

          Shepard sits in the dimmed mess deck, staring at the cup of coffee steaming between her clasped hands. By now the Alliance has her report. The responsibility has been cast off of her shoulders, into the cogs of the humans’ military machine, to the next step of the process.  
          But it won’t leave her mind.  
          It’s irrational, and it sticks like something between her teeth. The mission had provided a special kind of horror, true. Medical experimentation on sapient subjects was a new one, and the big reason to why she wasn’t sleeping yet tonight – or maybe the next few nights, come to think of it. But there was no helping those people, and she wasn’t beating herself up over thinking that she could. She had worked through Alliance protocols in apprehending Saleon, and the doctor had decided to go down fighting rather than being taken. There was no anxiety over his fate.  
          So what was the cold burn in the bottom of her stomach? Why did it feel so… personal?  
          Shepard rubs her hands over her face, letting her palms rest over each eye. She only wanted–  
          “Commander?”  
          Shepard looks up sharply at the voice. Tali stands in the doorway, slowly wringing her hands together. She takes a single step forward. “It’s so late. Shouldn’t you be…?”  
           _The cloth doesn’t quite cover the naked arm, bound roughly to the side of the gurney. Pallid skin, narrow hand, thumb, index finger – then a second long finger. Each digit is tipped with stark white nails._  
           _Tali –_  
          “Not tired, I guess. I had to file that mission report, after all.” The smile puts up a damn good fight; Shepard forces it anyways.  
          “I… see.” Tali generously doesn’t point out that the report is long since sent. She slowly pulls the chair from the other side of the table where Shepard sits.  
          “Well, what are you doing up?” Shepard asks, watching the quarian girl take a seat. “Still having problems sleeping on board the Normandy?”  
          “Oh! No! Nothing like that. I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve been up working, like you!” Tali wriggles once in her seat, nodding. “I’ve finally finished decoding the system codes of the geth core I took. From the tower – on Feros?”  
          “Right. I remember.” Shepard grasps both hands around her mug of coffee. “What did you find?”  
          “Oh! It was a lot – but not as much as I thought it was going to be which was actually disappointing but then after I started comparing the data I saw the discrepancies which is very revealing in a way when you think about it –”  
          “Okay, okay,” Shepard laughs, holding up a hand. Tali’s practically vibrating with her progress, and Shepard can meet her halfway. “I’ll bite. But you have to keep it simple; I’m no engineer.”  
          “Right!” Tali holds out her arm, and then the mess deck is illuminated by her omni-tool. The holographic screen displays all sorts of data lines, crowded and wholly unintelligible. With her other hand she points to a line. “So! You see, Shepard, the arrays and algorithms here are actually identical to the records of geth programs we still have aboard the Migrant Fleet. This continues on for large sections of data, including the key programs executing along the core processes.” She pauses and looks at the display almost thoughtfully.  
           It’s still mostly gibberish to Shepard. “So, even after three hundred years, the geth haven’t changed much? Their programs haven’t…” she gropes for the word, “evolved?”  
          “That’s just it! The core processes and communication between algorithms have literally gone unchanged! There are more extraneous programs that have become more efficient, but even these – ” the data feed on Tali’s omni-tool jumps to another screen jumbled with more programming codes. “See? They changed steadily over time, becoming more streamlined within the geth communication web. Then, here: they mostly stopped, all the way up until the point we shot this particular geth in the tower.”  
          “So… it eventually plateaued.”  
          “Right! So they have changed, but they haven’t. It’s a vital look into the geth for my people, Shepard. Developing weapons against them is seen as a waste of resources; we thought they would have advanced by a greater degree, in ways we couldn’t have fathomed. We didn’t want to make the same mistakes as the first time. But now that I have a current version of their core systems, we’ll have a starting point. Maybe someday, we can reclaim our _home_ , Shepard.”  
          “Mistakes of the first time? You mean the uprising?”  
          “Yes.” The omni-screen above Tali’s arm blinks off. “When my people first made the geth, it was for menial labor, dangerous work, things like that. As the work got more complicated, we enabled their programs to link and share information and computation resources. This way, learning the common, basic tasks could be shared among each platform, freeing up program memory for the more complex work.”  
          “That was the problem, wasn’t it? The linking.”  
          “Yes.” Tali’s head bows, just a little bit. “We thought we were careful enough, clever enough. But then they started showing signs of self-awareness. They were… waking up.”  
          “And that was a problem?” Shepard takes a sip of coffee.  
          “Er… yes. How could we explain to them that they were basically slaves? That their purpose was nothing more than a life of hard labor?”  
          “Is that why they started the uprising?”  
          “No. We tried to shut them all down. To… disable enough geth programs that the communal sharing would no longer give them sentience.”  
           _Holy shit!_ It’s a damn good thing the coffee’s swallowed. “The quarians tried to eradicate the geth? After they’d _gone sentient?_ ” Her unspoken conclusion lazes in the air like a hornet; _The geth were just defending themselves?_  
          “We – we thought that they hadn’t yet reached that point! We wanted to put an end to it before things got too out of control!” Tali holds up both hands and shakes her head; behind the dark visor of her helmet, her eyes blink rapidly. “And besides all that, developing AI was against Citadel law! We knew it was a problem; it was our mess to fix!”  
           _Sore point. Not surprising, but definitely a sore point._ “Was that their advantage? Being a synthetic sentience?” Shepard keeps her voice firm as she drops the issue of quarian blame. The information is shocking to learn, but not something that’s going to change by browbeating a single quarian girl on her Pilgrimage.  
          “Not like you’re thinking,” Tali answers, calming with every word. “The numbers they had to maintain to give them AI status were staggering. And their link makes them immune to hacking or programming changes, as I explained before. Even if they hadn’t fought back, shutting down that many geth… it might have taken years.”  
           _The geth had a good amount of numbers, and quarians are pretty physiologically weak, as far as races go._ Shepard’s mind switches to soldier-mode, going over the tactics in her head. _But there would have still been more quarians than geth; Rannoch was their home planet, after all. And there would have been standard safeguards concerning VIs anyways. But the geth uprising was over in a Rannoch year – that’s a little over half a year in SST time. A war on a home planet, over in six months._  
          Something’s missing.  
          “Numbers were their only big advantage?” Shepard leans back, ignoring the coffee. Maybe best not to drink in this discussion. “The uprising ended when the quarians fled the planet. All that were left. Your people were losing that badly?”  
          “I… Yes. That’s just how I learned it. The geth rose against us, their masters. We escaped in whatever we could find; military fleets, private vessels, merchant carriers. Once we reached the Citadel, we petitioned for help. Instead, we were ostracized. Cast away.”  
          Shepard frowns; there’s no arguing the dismal conclusion to the geth uprising. An entire race culled down and exiled from the home planet? It’s almost beyond comprehension how bloody the war would have been for that result.  
          Synthetic workers. Mostly unchanged, over three hundred years. It dawns on her - “So, is this a good tribute for your Pilgrimage?”  
          “Oh! Yes! Very much so!” Tali perks up immediately. “Resources and raw materials are one thing, but data? On _geth_? I can’t remember anyone bringing such a thing back, in all my life!”  
          This time the smile isn’t forced at all. “That’s good to hear, Tali. I’m glad you found something worthwhile.” In truth Shepard can’t deny a good dose of relief herself. She’d been at a loss with how to help Tali with this, but it seems to be taken care of.  
          “But, don’t think that means I’m leaving! I only got this core from one of your Alliance missions! Because you took me along! You trusted me!” Tali leans forward, sprawling both hands on the tabletop. “I’m sticking with you, Commander, until this is over. This Flotilla is my home, but the galaxy is my home as well! It’s the geth who are causing this suffering, and I have a duty to stand against them! And Saren – is a _bosh’tet!_ ”  
          “Tali, wow,” Shepard says, laughing. “Nice inspirational speech. I’m flattered. And I’m glad you’re staying.”  
          “Of course! There is no need for goodbyes. But!” Tali holds up a single long quarian finger. “Perhaps there is a need for good-nights. When I got up, I wasn’t expecting to be covering a general topic of geth programming and the uprising. And you should sleep too, Shepard. We need our leader at top form.”  
           _For what? Nightmares about live dissections, and then waking to no news and more no news?_ Shepard nods and stands along with the quarian. “You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning, Tali.”  
          “Yes! What’s the human saying? Sweet dreams, Commander!”  
          Shepard laughs, even though her heart freezes over.  
           _Naked. Flayed. Dissected. Dismembered._  
          She takes her coffee with her to her cabin.


	14. Squeaky Clean Space Potemkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -So, this is actually a whole series of missions, but I joined them all into one. Gotta start setting up for Book 2! 
> 
> \- The main character of a good friend's webcomic makes gets a mention as a starship captain! I guess she joined the Alliance in this universe!
> 
> \- As far as the Akuze stuff, I really like the idea of the "career moments" being things that replace each other in Shepard's life - like some sort of cosmic constants and variables. Hence, Elysium "replaces" Akuze (and allows me to give some backstory on Cerberus being assholes), if that make any sense.

           She hears – and feels – the heavy thud of footsteps, moments before Urdnot Wrex enters the comm room. He crosses the distance between them with a laser intensity.  
           _Uh oh._ Shepard nods to him and stands her ground. “Wrex. You’re the first to make it for the briefing.”  
          “Your little meeting can wait, Shepard,” he says. The edge in his voice clips the words. “You and I need to talk. Now.”  
          The alarm quivers in her stomach, and so Shepard crosses her arms, looking up at him as finally halts – a little too close. She lifts her chin, raises her chest. “Wrex. I know we haven’t gotten any leads since the mission on Feros. But we can’t just…” She falters for just a second. He’s angry, justifiably so, and that’s what adds that extra sting of humiliation. _We all joined up to hunt down Saren, but we’re only waiting around. I’m wasting his time –_  
          “I’m not talking about the Saren thing. C’mon, Shepard. I get to fly around on your fancy Alliance ship and eat all your human-Earth food. No complaints there.” He stoops just a bit, almost in her face. “You’ve been holding out on me. I’m talking about the _tomkah._ ”  
          She blinks, and for a second she just stares up at him. “Ah, Wrex? I think my translator skipped.”  
          Wrex takes a breath and tilts his head to the side. “The _tomkah_ , Shepard. In the storage bay. Under the tarp. Like a groundcar, but… actually useful.”  
          “The Mako. The combat utility vehicle,” Shepard says slowly. _There’s no way I’m understanding this correctly._  
          “Sure. That. Whatever. Why aren’t we using it?” He straightens, gives her some space.  
          She holds back the urge to bark an awkward laugh. _He’s upset over the Mako? I don’t… really?_ “There’s been no need. It’s… for appropriate long-distance missions only, Wrex.”  
          “All missions are appropriate for that thing.” There’s a glint in his red eyes now.  
          Others enter through the door behind him; Ashley and Tali and Kaidan. Her lieutenant raises his eyebrows at the sight. Shepard can practically hear his voice; _Need a little help, ma’am?_  
          Just so slightly she shakes her head, and turns back to Wrex. “The Mako doesn’t belong to me. It’s Alliance property. And if it even gets a _scratch_ , I’ll be doing paperwork for the next forty years.”  
          He shrugs heavily. “Forty years isn’t a long time.”  
          Shepard shakes her head. “Maybe not for you, Wrex, but it’s too long for me. Sorry to disappoint you, but the Mako stays where it is. Now, let me get my briefing.”  
          “Bah!” He throws up both his hands and moves away as Liara and Garrus enter. “Humans and their forty years. Smart enough to bring a _tomkah_ but too scared to use it.” Even grumbling in his baritone, he sits in one of the comm room chairs and waits for the meeting to start.  
          Nodding to the rest of the gathered crew, Shepard steels herself for what comes next. _Well, time to disappoint._  
          “As I’m sure you all know, I’ve just concluded a meeting with Captain Anderson,” Shepard says to the gathered team. “He has… informed me that Captain Kinoshita of the _SSV Perugia_ has secured the colony on Feros and delivered her report.” She activates the comm room screen to show the official photographs from the _Perugia_ captain’s investigation. “She also verified all of the findings of the Normandy ground team. Except for one.”  
          “The geth altar in the tower,” Shepard says flatly, “did not have any strange tech on it.”  
          Behind her, the screen displays the image of the geth altar. Empty. “With Lady Shiala’s help, the crew of the Perugia searched the colony, but; that’s it. It’s just gone. Alliance personnel have been stationed there until it can be properly stabilized – ” _as if anything can be normal for those people again_ – “and they have been ordered to watch for suspicious activity. In Captain Kinoshita’s opinion, however, the mystery artifact is not on Feros.”  
          “It was just a creepy bit of tech the geth were worshipping. Who could have taken it?” Tali asks in a small voice. Shepard knows – she remembers it clear as day. The wrong angles – the creeping edges. “One of the ExoGeni employees?”  
          “We don’t know. At least, we didn’t.” Shepard uncrosses her arms and turns to the display screen – which displays the image of a barren altar. “Kinoshita did recover the half-encrypted message Tali found at the tower terminal. But by then, it had been fully closed, fully encrypted, and another message had since been received.”  
          “So.” Ashley leans forward. “Someone was up there after the attack. After you cleared out the geth.”  
          “Getting more orders. Covering their tracks,” Wrex says.  
          “Tali said it was a heavy encryption, and she wasn’t kidding.” Shepard turns back to the crew. “You wouldn’t believe the resources the Alliance threw at this.”  
          “A military-grade encryption? No, higher than military grade. Damn.” Kaidan frowns. “Did they get it?”  
          “This morning, SST time. The other topic to Anderson’s meeting.” Shepard commands the display screen to switch images, showing a mostly mountainous planet with large basins of brilliant green. “This is Chasca, the planet mentioned in the first message. The second message came from this planet. Those orders were to secure the “alien artifact” and have it taken here.”  
          “Someone interested in mind-control spores _and_ this unknown tech? Who could….?” Kaidan studies the planet, then looks to her almost pleadingly. “What?”  
          “Aptly put, Lieutenant,” Shepard says. “This planet contains a farming colony bankrolled by a distant subsidiary of ExoGeni. But, after some lengthy Alliance investigations, the colony’s trail goes dead. It’s not real. The _backer_ of the subsidiary has very deep pockets, but is also very not real.”  
          “It’s just a front.” Garrus speaks for the first time.  
          “Yes. And so, the big question,” Shepard says. “A front for whom? So we’re being sent to investigate.”  
          “Saren?” Tali says.  
           “It’s… being considered an Alliance affair, and – I’m inclined to agree.” Shepard halts, forcing her shoulders to relax. _You knew this would come up. Just say it._ It feels like admitting defeat. “Saren was interested in the Thorian’s knowledge, not the spores. And his geth had this tech in the first place. If it was important to him, he wouldn’t have been so careless with it.”  
          “This object – you’re certain it wasn’t Prothean?” Liara sits at the edge of her seat, hands clasped tightly in her lap.  
          “It wasn’t.” Shepard says. “I know I’m not an expert or anything – I know I don’t – look.” She takes a breath. The thought of the dark, jagged object doesn’t spark the same primal fear as the thing itself, but the memory doesn’t lie. “Doctor. Unless I am very, _very_ far off my mark, that was nothing Prothean.”  
          “I am not disputing you.” Liara says, eyes wide. ““If this strange tech was taken here, then I would like to accompany the ground team. If it is unknown origin, there may be a chance – however small – that it is from some civilization from before the Protheans. It could shed light on all kinds of – ”  
          “I wanted to study it too, at first.” Tali says darkly. In the silhouette of her mask’s visor, her pale eyes are closed. “Not after I actually saw it. And this is coming from a quarian.”  
          Shepard shakes her head once, forcefully. “Doctor. None of this whole mess is making any kind of sense. I’m not making decisions on teams until we’re in comm distance of this place. As far as orders are concerned, all of you prepare for ground team. And for the tech itself, I won’t make any promises. There’s something… about that thing.” Even as the words spill out Shepard feels foolish. _I’m scared? Is that why I left it? And because of that, I lost it._  
          Liara nods, dropping the subject, but Shepard can still see how wide her eyes are – she wants to see this tech very badly.  
But she wasn’t there. _She didn’t get to… experience it in person. Ugh._ “Dismissed.”  
          Shepard bows her head just a bit as they file out, letting the decision weigh on her. How can she formulate ground team when she has next to nothing to go off of? And more importantly – _what the hell is going on at this planet? I’m missing something huge. But I can see the hole where it should fit._  
           _We’re going to retrieve that dark tech._  
           _The angles seem wrong. The edges start to shiver._  
          Shepard shudders and leans back against the rail around the display screen. _I don’t want that damn tech on my ship._ The thought crashes through, rigid and certain. Logic dictates she shouldn’t have left it in the first place. But in that moment – before the altar – she would have rather thrown it off the top of the tower than bring it on the Normandy.  
          Someone approaches, and Shepard straightens as Garrus stops before her. She gives him a quick once-over; since coming back from the hospital ship, he’s mostly kept to himself, and Shepard has so far not pressed the issue. _Partly because I have no clue how to help him. Is this normal for turians? Did it end badly because of me? If I pry into it am I going to make it worse? I absolutely can’t make it any worse. I can’t just blunder my way through – I can’t –_  
           _Why can I not approach this objectively?_  
          “Commander,” he begins, sounding calm. His turian demeanor betrays nothing; but that is hardly new. “Allow me to apologize – for my insubordination.”  
          “You didn’t disobey my order.”  
          “I was defiant.”  
          “Wrex and Ashley have both – “  
          “The professional relationship you have with them – a contracted mercenary or one of your own marines – has nothing to do with my conduct. You’re a commanding officer. I am a product of the Hierarchy and my behavior was – ” He halts suddenly, and his mandibles give a quick, agitated flick. “And I’ve just interrupted the commanding officer.”  
          She meets his gaze. “I’m an N7 Special Forces marine, and you – all of you – are the various specialists I have chosen to fight alongside me. I don’t expect blind obedience. If you have a dissenting opinion, you’re allowed to voice it.” She lets a beat of silence pass, then she adds, “You didn’t disobey my order. You didn’t fire the gun.”  
          “But I wanted to. I wanted to – I wanted him to regret it.” The words come out in a flood. “I wished I had stopped him back on the Citadel, and I wanted to stop him back on that hospital ship, but both times I’m just told to let him go, and – it felt like it was repeating, all over again.”  
          Shepard swallows down the quick burn that sparks in her chest. “Obeying Pallin and obeying me are the same thing?”  
          “No. That’s what I mean. In the moment, I just wanted to pay back to him everything he’d done. But you forbid it – and then he dies anyways. Because I shot him. I… I finally got what I wanted. And I didn’t feel better after he was dead, even though I got my way in the end. It didn’t change anything. It was supposed to be different.”  
          “I’m sorry, Garrus.”  
          “Don’t be. You made the good call. Our job was to – to stop him from hurting other people, and honor those he’d killed; see to their bodies. Nothing that I wanted to – do to him would have changed that. It was my loose end, and I was too caught up to see it through properly.”  
          “I’m the CO, right? That’s what I’m here for,” Shepard tries to keep her voice casual. _It’s over, at least in the literal sense. But is it really? This is the case that made him lose faith in C-Sec._ It seems too… clean.  
          The next words are easy to think, and hard to say. “Are you sure you’re okay? It was a bad mission. Even for Williams and me, I mean. If you need any – ”  
          His mandibles give a single sharp flick. “I let my personal connections influence my reactions, but I won’t let it happen again.”  
          “That’s not really what I asked, Vakarian. I’m not doubting your performance.”  
          “We stopped him. That’s all… I could ask for.” He nods once. “I’m fine, Commander.”  
          “I’ll accept that, Vakarian.” She doesn’t believe it for a second. But what more can she say?  
          He studies her. “…And I’m hoping that my behavior doesn’t hurt my chances when I request to be taken groundside.”  
           _Whoa._ “Is that so, Officer? I did say this was an Alliance affair.”  
          “That’s irrelevant.” He nods firmly. “I’m just as intrigued by this as you are. I was there with you when we found this thread, and now I want to see where it leads. Although, I can’t say I’m looking forward to picking up that thing the geth were worshipping. Or sharing ship-space with it.”  
          “Mmhmm.” Shepard agrees completely with that particular sentiment. “Well, considering all the places I’ve dragged you to thus far, I guess I can comply with it.”  
          “Dragged? All the places we’ve been, I was glad to go. I came along to help you. If anyone can do all this, it’s you.” He pauses, and his mandibles do a strange, jerky, up-down motion. “If there’s anything I can do to help. _Anything._ Just tell me what you need done and I’ll do it.”  
          Shepard stares back at him. Is this because of what happened on the _Fedele?_ “Vakarian, I don’t – ”  
          “Commander.” Navigator Pressly appears in the doorway. “Need your authorization for a course-change to the Montano system. The Normandy’s VI is snagging since the mass relay’s a dead leg.”  
          "Right.” Most relay paths are connected in redundant loops; with each relay connected to the network at multiple points. This particular relay is only connected via one other jump-point. Regardless of its position within the galaxy, with only one relay link, this system may as well be the middle of nowhere.  
          It speaks for itself.  
          As she leaves, Shepard glances back to Garrus. “Request approved. Get your suit-checks done. No telling what’s waiting for us down there.”  
          He watches her, expressionless – at least as far as humans are concerned. “Right away, Commander.”

 

          “Hmm.” Joker reaches out and presses a button near the comm panel, watching the data feed across the screen. He presses it again. “Hmm hmm.” And again. “Hmm hmmm hmm.”  
          Giving an exasperated snort, he glances back to Shepard, standing a pace behind him. “Is it bad that I can’t decide if this is too weird or not? I feel like… my threshold for weirdness is kinda thrown outta whack lately.”  
          Shepard doesn’t reply as he presses the comm panel button again. Joker shakes his head. In the Normandy’s helm windows, the planet Chasca fills their view.  
          “Well, Commander, there’s all the standard comm channels coming through, and they’re all dead silent. There’s no ground chatter, and there’s no automated broadcasts, emergency. Or. Otherwise.”  
          “Any comm buoys?”  
          “Normal stuff. Not a hint of static though. So that buoy is either brand-new or they’re doing maintenance runs like every other month.” He exhales. “So weird. It’s like… everything is in order. But it’s all a little too…. in order? Like some kind of space Potemkin of the future.”  
          “It fits with everything else we’ve learned about this place,” Shepard says, studying the planet as if she can decipher it already. “Squeaky clean financial records. Ordinary agricultural exports. Dead leg relay keeps it away from any spaceway traffic.”  
          Joker smooths down his scruff of a beard. “Well, stealth and shields are up and running. And we’re following a spaceport tracker, so there’s _something_ down there.”  
          The Normandy vibrates slightly as it enters the planet’s atmosphere, descending down through the cloudless skies. The tracker leads the ship down through a mountainous valley, to a brilliant green floodplain.  
          The settlement is clear amidst the open land, alongside several agriculture plots. The collection of prefabs are normal enough – but sitting among them is a tall, windowless building. Shepard turns as the Normandy passes over the colony, keeping the object in her field of view.  
          A permanent building shouldn’t be too unusual; they’re more expensive, and not as widely used – but it’s not as if they’re unheard of. Right now, though… the discrepancy feels magnified ten times over. _The prefabs are for residence and quality of life. But that thing…_  
          “Well, at least we know there’s a colony here,” Joker says under his breath. “ _At least_.”  
          Shepard smiles, breaking her focus on the large building to scan the rest of the colony. “The amount of field acreage looks too small for a settlement this size.”  
          “What? Like… they’re not growing enough stuff?”  
          “Yeah. What we’re seeing shouldn’t be enough to keep it afloat, let alone break a profit.” It’s only her experience as a colony brat – _colony trash_ – speaking. Among polite company – hell, among Alliance brass high enough on the food chain – it would be better to keep silent.  
          But her pilot, an off-world human himself, only spares a quick glance to the buildings passing beneath them, then turns back to the controls and continues working. “Squeaky clean space Potemkin,” he mutters darkly.

 

          The wind gales around them as the Normandy departs, rising to a safe height before the engines fully engage. The single-ship landing platform is all that the colony has as a spaceport – completely standard for a small farming community.  
          ”I’ll stick in low-atmo for now, ma’am. Holler if you need me.” Joker clicks off the comm.  
          Shepard barely gives the departing ship a second glance before she turns to the colony, maybe around ninety meters away. At the edge of the landing platform, a few long freight trucks and groundcars sit idle. There’s not a cloud in the blue sky above them. The temperature is a single degree too warm, offset by a gentle breeze.  
          Shepard swallows hard and motions to her squad. Her hand itches to hold the heavy pistol at her waist, and so she unholsters it as she stalks forward. Not the best protocol to show up to an agrarian colony waving the gun first thing, but – _These people know why we’re here._  
          Liara’s eyes go wide as she follows suit, throwing quick glances between Garrus and Shepard. “Commander. What response did you receive over comm?”  
          Shepard scans over the edge of the colony, searching for some kind of movement, some kind of sign. Nothing breaks the movie-set suspension. “Didn’t get one, Doctor.”  
          Liara does not answer this.  
          The outer perimeter of the colony is surrounded by a chain-link fence, barely topping waist height. Shepard frowns. Mindoir, sitting near the edge of Terminus space, had used high defensive walls of metal and concrete. Feros had been well within Council space, and therefore had only used basic concrete partitions. But this? There’s no defensive advantage to this barrier. It’s so quintessentially… not just human, but _Earth,_ that it skids straight past strange into the absurd.  
          The fence is easily vaulted, and both aliens give the human construct a quick double take as they jump it. The prefabs are close, now, and the tinted windows reveal nothing. For a few seconds Shepard starts to doubt even her basic assumptions – _maybe there’s no one here at all?_ They turn a corner around a prefab, into the village. _Maybe it’s maintained by –_  
          The ground is littered with corpses, scattered and still around the prefabs. Human corpses –  
          The skin is dull and dark. Glowing circuits and panels, wires and cables crisscross the body like muscles and bones. Eyes that are wide and glassy, like dead bulbs.  
          Shit.  
          “These are… the things from your report,” Garrus says. “From Eden Prime. You called them…”  
          “Husks,” Shepard says. _To remind myself that they were once human. But not anymore._  
          Husks mean the geth, at a human colony – which means Saren. Reapers. Every theory Shepard has connected together rips apart. _That building. We need to get into that building._  
          Halting, Shepard approaches the nearest body with pistol aimed and ready. This many targets would give them some very real problems, all at once, and if this is some sort of trick…  
          The bullet holes are neatly visible amid the cables of the husk’s torso. And another, a little ways off. And another. Many have a surgical-precision shot right between the eyes.  
          “Someone got here before us,” Shepard says flatly, straightening and staring at the dead husks. It’s a simple statement of fact, and it only confuses the matter further. She’s not sure if she even believes it herself.  
          “Hmm.” Garrus follows her as she picks her way among the bodies, heading to the building. “This is… a lot of people. The whole colony may have been turned.”  
          “It would explain why we didn’t get a hail,” Shepard mutters.  
          “Commander. Is Saren here?” Liara trails near the back, holding her own pistol tightly in both hands.  
          “Him, hiding on a makeshift human colony? I highly doubt it.” The conspicuous building towers over them now. “Honestly, I don’t know what is going on here anymore.”  
          “Does this have something to do with the mystery tech from Feros?” Liara’s voice strains over the words.  
          “That’s what we’re trying to find out, Doctor.” Shepard stops at the entrance. The doors are propped open by a dead husk jammed in the entranceway. She takes a breath. “Let’s go.”  
          Inside the building waits a lobby with an unmanned reception desk. The husk bodies are here too, scattered across the floor. To the left, an entire wall is taken up by lavish terminals, used for long distance contact via comm buoy. _Yet another crack in the illusion._ A colony backer might provide one terminal for colonists to contact their off-world loved ones, but never so many, and never models so expensive.  
          Beyond the lobby are offices, meeting rooms; massive facility closets filled with large tanks and tangles of piping. One doorway even leads to a server farm. Each thing is normal by itself, but none of it should be present on a human farming colony this small. The twisted, synthetic-organic bodies serve to further remind the squad of the strange reality they find themselves in.  
          Further on, there are more signs; a wall peppered with bullet holes, a splatter of blood on the floor. And above it all, no unturned humans, dead or alive, colonists or otherwise.  
          Shepard is the first to see it as they pass by the next set of offices; a short hallway that leads to a high-security door, open a hand width to reveal several locks built into the frame. She stares at it for a good few seconds as the chill shivers up her back. _What needs that much security on a farming colony?_  
          Entering the hallway, Shepard raises her index finger and circles it; Alliance signal for gather up. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Garrus take position to cover her as she moves to point. Liara follows along, giving the hand signals tight-lipped stares. _She doesn’t need to know the hand signals, she only needs to blast whatever we’re going to find with biotics._  
          At his position, Garrus grabs one of the massive deadbolts, nodding to Shepard. She nods back, and sweeps into the next area as Garrus throws the door open wide.  
          The long rectangular room she enters is still fully illuminated in harsh artificial light. The entire length is littered with more dead husks – _Vakarian might be right, the whole damn colony might be turned._ Long window panels reveal more rooms beyond, but at this angle Shepard can’t quite make out the view. And emblazoned across the floor beneath the husk bodies - beneath their very feet – is a wide logo: a yellow-orange hexagon, framed within a single pair of form-fitting brackets.  
          Shepard swallows, straightens, then lowers her gun. With nothing more than this symbol, suddenly things begin to fall into place.           Beside her, Garrus makes a noise in his throat.  
          She shoots him a glance. “Vakarian. You know what this means?”  
          “Yeah. Seen it spray-painted across the doors of a few businesses and homes, back on the Citadel.”  
           _He’s a police officer for the capital of the galaxy. Of course he knows what this fucking means._ The yellow emblem becomes very hard to look at. “Sorry.”  
          “Everybody has them, Commander. Nothing for you to apologize for.”  
          “Er…?” Liara peers past the two soldiers. “This sign is unknown to me. I must confess that I have not been to the Citadel in many years. Is it something related to the colony backer?”  
          Picking her way through the husks, Shepard makes her way across the lobby towards the first set of windows to her left. “It’s the mystery group behind all this. They’re a human organization that – ”  
          The words die in her throat.  
          The lab beyond the viewing window contains several autopsy tables, occupied entirely by human bodies. In a ghastly echo of Saleon’s ship, each cadaver is in various states of dissection. Some corpses display dark green patches that mottle outward from the nose and mouth, deforming the face. Others appear normal. Massive computer monitors display progress photos, mapped displays of the bodies, simulations of infected cells.  
          “We found – the spores.” Shepard’s voice sounds foreign to her own ears. She looks to Garrus as he approaches the window, studying the scene with that iron turian stoicism.  
          “Well. They’ve certainly been busy,” Garrus says. “Were they infecting subjects here? Or are those bodies from Zhu’s Hope?”  
          Before Shepard can answer, Liara gasps from the next set of windows. “C-Commander...” she begins, tearing her gaze away to look to Shepard. “This cannot be real…”  
          Shepard stalks forward, pushing her own careening alarm down under the soldier’s veneer. “Doctor? What did you find?” She reaches Liara, looks past her, through the observation panel.  
          At the center of this next room, a wall of clear panels contains the bodies of several dead rachni. A nearby table hold yet another human body, covered by a sheet. A monitor overlooking it contains diagrams of injury patterns – and pictures of his face.  
          “Holy _shit!_ ” Shepard steps forward, slamming her hand on the glass. “I don’t… I don’t believe it…”  
“          The rachni. Whoever these people were, they were on Noveria as well,” Liara says.  
          “No… I don’t… I know the rachni are a big deal, but…” Shepard shakes her head. The memory is hazy, but that face – that face is clear.  
           _His skin is a deep tanned beige, shaded beneath the brim of his officer’s cap. He nods once, and breaks into an easy smile. ‘At ease, soldier. I’ll take it from here.’_  
          “That man in there, the body. It’s Admiral Kahoku.”  
          “Alliance? They have an Alliance _Admiral?_ ” Garrus halts to stand at Shepard’s other side.  
          “He’s been missing for months now. I still remember Anderson’s briefing when the Alliance formally announced it. He’s got a wife and three kids… ” Shepard takes her hand away from the window. On the monitor, small snippets of words are barely intelligible – _attack pattern – highly corrosive – disembowelment._  
          “They used him as a test subject against rachni?” Liara actually turns away, chest heaving.  
          “The rachni were Saren’s project,” Shepard says slowly. The raw horror is pushed away; _focus only on the facts, fit the pieces._ “Benezia said herself that he was trying to breed them to make an army.” She looks back to the room containing the Thorian thralls. “ExoGeni kept the infected as their own dirty little secret. It shouldn’t be connected.”  
          “These people have contacts to all kinds of illicit projects,” Garrus says. “With illicit projects of their own.”  
          “And this is the stuff we know about,” Shepard says, abruptly turning away and striding to the next set of windows. “Just what the hell else are we going to find here?”  
          The view inside the next lab reveals segments of a long tendril, glowing a dim bioluminescent blue and spanning the length of the room on dissection tables. Nearby counters contain fragments of a tan-gray exoskeleton, and a series of cloudy plastic containers are surrounded by warning signs. Diagrams across the wall conclude: the samples come from something big – very big. As she passes, Shepard yet again catches snippets of information displayed on the monitors – _substance equivalent to hydrofluoric acid – extremely territorial – chitin layers provide armor to entire body._  
          “They… they have samples from a thresher maw?” Garrus half-mutters to no one as he passes the other window. The word means nothing to Shepard, but she lets it go. Plenty of time to learn the grisly details after they’re done with inventory.  
          Without halting she moves to the next window. Pictures of random, unfamiliar humans, along with molecular structures and an EEG reading. Shepard jolts to a stop, narrowing her eyes. The EEG readings contain the extra few rows of data past the usual brainwaves – these people are biotics. Some graphs show heightened action, others have suppressed activity to the point of non-function. Many end in the sweeping storm of epileptic seizure. All stop when the activity ends across all rows at once. When they went brain-dead.  
          Shepard swallows hard, trying to dislodge the spike of ice that seems to be forming in her chest. Behind her, Garrus and Liara slowly catch up.  
          Liara reaches Shepard’s point and studies the lab beyond them. She shakes her head. “They… were attempting to chemically modify biotic ability? This cannot be done safely. Commander, the asari have known this even when we were pre-ascendant.”  
          “Don’t think they much care, Doctor.” Shepard forces her gaze away. _I came down here for answers, and it looks like I’m getting them._  
          They’ve reached the last set of windows remaining. _What’s waiting for me in this last one? Can it get any worse than the rest of it?_  
          The lab beyond is massive, warehouse sized. At the center of room, three tripods hold thin spikes, towering tall. They are made of a seamless matte gray material, undeniably synthetic.  
          The spikes from Eden Prime.  
          Without waiting for her squad, Shepard throws open the door to the airlock connection chamber that leads to this particular lab. Liara gives an alarmed cry, but Shepard doesn’t slow.  
          This is ground zero for every husk here, and it doesn’t fail to look the part. As Shepard double-times her way down the metal-grate stairs, the floor of the massive room is revealed – literally wall to wall with more dead husks.  
          At the base of the stairs, a particular pile of husks is slumped over the first and only human so far. Freezing to halt, Shepard studies the body. A heavy combat hardsuit, complete with sealed helmet that fully obscures the face. His cause of death is not apparent, but Shepard remembers the blast of electricity the husk had used on Eden Prime.  
          On the breast of his armor is a pale orange hexagon encased in brackets.  
          Shepard exhales heavily.  
          “More things from your Eden Prime report,” Garrus says, studying the spikes as he moves down the stairs. “This is where they turned the colonists into husks? But why so many – oh.” He sees the human body, and his mandibles give the quick shiver of a turian thinking.  
          Leaving the body, Shepard makes her way for the three spikes. They are surrounded by a simple metal barrier. Sensors and instruments are attached at certain points, and lead to computers along the wall.  
          Next to the spikes is a large lab glove-box, wide open and empty. Inside it are several instruments, but whatever was there is clearly gone.  
          Shepard’s brow furrows. The colony’s a front for illegal experimentation – _human experimentation_ – but someone had been here first. They kill the husks, but leave every bit of the incriminating evidence. _Right down to Admiral Kahoku’s fucking mutilated body._ But something here is missing.  
          Taken.  
          “Sh-Shepard.” Liara’s trembling voice calls her over. The asari sits at a nearby terminal, already typing furiously. She pauses, eyes wide, and glances back to Shepard. “Please come see.”  
          Shepard wastes no time in picking her way across the bodies, putting a hand on the back of Liara’s chair to bend down and look. Garrus, too, joins them, bending low enough that his chest almost touches Shepard’s shoulder – but not quite.  
          “There are files left on this computer,” Liara says, typing quickly. “Many are encrypted, but some are not. There are files assigned to this room that I can access – ” The screen flickers, and then a video playback begins.  
          A clean shaven man appears in frame, wearing a crisp white lab coat. Over the breast pocket is the now-familiar hexagon. The room behind him contains the three spikes, fully extended past the camera’s view. Several other scientists stand at the base and take readings on their omni-tools.  
          The man clears his throat. “Edward Grimes, lead scientist for initial-level analytical ops. Smithson brought the new tech from the hot zone. They were right; it’s like nothing we’ve seen so far. The higher ups want this thing studied ASAP; word is it’s caught the eye of the Big Man himself. Some of the guys think it’s from the same flavor as the spikes, but damn doesn’t this thing look weird.”  
          He turns to look over his shoulder, revealing the glove box. Inside it is something flat, conical, black. Overlocking plates. Slow pulse of red. In the virtual recording, the edges do not shiver or creep, but pixelate in a lazy sequence.  
          Shepard’s heart jumps into her throat.  
          The man looks back to the camera. “We’ll upload preliminaries tomorrow. Wish us luck!”  
          The video goes black, then starts up again. The tech sits in its box, the spikes tower out of frame. The same man as before, brow furrowed. He glares at the camera for a solid second, then:  
          “Edward Grimes, lead scientist for initial-level analytical ops. Cooper and Jorgen both say they saw the alien thing glowing last night. Nothing’s picked up on the baseline readings, but they say they’re sure. Cooper mentioned we should open the seal and ‘check on it.’ Then he gets mad when I tell him that we can see the damn thing just fine, and there’s no abnormal readings. Like I’m going to breach containment and expose everyone to some weird artifact. Maybe I’ll have to rotate them to another project for a while.”  
          Darkness, then the re-start. Tech, and tall spikes. The man is scoffing, angry, even as the recording loads. He rests his stubbly chin in one hand, clenching his jaw. Finally he says, “Edward Grimes, lead scientist for initial-level analytical ops. No abnormal readings. Passed along the message that they’ll be sending Lawson with some guys to pick it up, take it to some higher facility. Boy did that piss them off; you’d think I spat in Jorgen and Hanlon’s faces. Now everyone else here is asking to be rotated in for a crack at it. Even the regulars want a peek.” He sighs, ragged and heavy. “I’ll be glad when it’s gone. Maybe then everyone can stop acting like a damned idiot.”  
          Behind him, the edges of the tech slowly pixelate. The man whirls around, watching the black artifact for a moment that stretches for far too long. _He has to see it. He has to._ Finally he looks back to camera, and blinks once. “Gotta admit. I hate when it’s watching me.”  
          With her hand on the chair back, Shepard feels Liara’s whole body tense.  
          Another skip, and the man is revealed again. His hair is disheveled, sticking to the thin sheen over his face. The dark circles give his eyes a deeply sunken look, and the stubble has grown to noticeable scruff. He watches the camera with wide eyes, giving his head a slow shake.  
          “Ed? Um. Ed. Grimes. Lead scientist of the… Analytical op. Initial level.” He takes a deep breath. “N-n-no abnormal readings on the base level. The artifact is fine. You can check if you don’t believe me.” He shakes his head again. “Cooper. Jorgen. Um. All of them. Not doing so well. Not feeling so well myself, either. It’s not hard, right? Go away, feel bad. Stay close, feel better. Not sure I want Lawson and them to take it. Maybe… it should stay right he – ”  
          The video cuts off, then starts again almost immediately. Edward Grimes stares at the camera, but his gaze is a thousand miles away. He sways slightly. In the glimpses behind him, the impalement spikes can be seen. The glove-box is wide open, revealing the alien tech. A group of husks stand around it like lions guarding a kill, but do not move.  
          Ed Grimes says nothing. He only stares.  
          Behind him, one of the spikes retracts, shooting down to waist height. The husk impaled on the shaft struggles clumsily, freeing itself after several seconds.  
          Ed Grimes stands up.  
          Sitting in her own chair – very likely they chair the man had been once sitting in – Liara recoils so far her shoulders lean against Shepard’s arm. She presses both hands over her mouth.  
          On the recording, Grimes sways drunkenly towards the lowered spike. He halts, staggering hard on one foot, then pitches forward, landing square on the point. The spike shoots up, out of frame.  
          The video cuts off.  
          Liara bows her head, and her breath is ragged and wet. “Commander,” she whispers. “This place is awful.”  
          Shepard straightens, staring at the computer monitor. If she’d had half a notion of what was really going on here, she’d have left Liara back on the Normandy. It’s one thing to protect her during a firefight, but this is damaging on a different level; something an honest civilian should never have to deal with. Hell, it’s starting to feel a little out of her league as well. _Guess I’m going back to less sleep and more nightmares._ Steeling herself, she only says, “They were sending a group to pick it up. But when they get here…”  
          “Everyone had turned themselves into husks,” Garrus finishes, scanning the room. “By the end, it’s the whole damned colony.” He glances to the dead human, then raises his hand to track a path to some bullet holes in the wall. “Hmm. We’ve seen dead husks from here to the colony edge. It’s a rough guess, but I’d say that they fought their way here, got the artifact…” His gaze drops to the pattern of bodies on the floor. “Then they had to fight their way back out. Only one casualty; our friend there at the stairs.”  
          “Heavy fighting,” Shepard agrees. “They wanted to get that artifact at all costs, but they still left behind… everything else. All the other research was expendable. If our hypothesis is correct, then we must have just missed them. This dead guy from the extraction team isn’t _that_ long dead.”  
          Contrary to the normal reaction, the conclusion doesn’t infuriate Shepard. Instead, the thought that she has missed the artifact brings only relief. The feeling solidifies within her; cool and cowardly. _I’m glad that thing’s gone._  
          “Far be it from me to wish for your failure, Commander,” Liara begins in a fragile voice, as if on cue. “But I am glad it is not here. The process of… conversion began with that object. To bring it on board the Normandy, after seeing the recordings…”  
          Shepard uses all her strength to suppress a shudder. Liara’s words hearten her more than she cares to admit. She activates her omni-tool with a few careful commands and connects to the Normandy’s tightbeam broadcast. The moment her own programs recognize the files contained within the colony servers, she activates the command to begin download – of anything and everything, encrypted and open alike. _We can sort it all out later._  
           _I just want to get the hell off this planet._

 

 

          The room is soothing in double doses; one, it is the warm familiarity of the Normandy comm room, a place she knows very well – and second, the entire complement of her squad waits patiently for their debriefing. On the room’s massive screen, the bracketed hexagon is displayed. It is perhaps the only image from the mission that won’t bring more nightmares.  
          Even now, Shepard hesitates. What follows is going to be a very awkward explanation, given the company.  
          “Using the encryption key used to decipher the messages from Feros,” Shepard begins, “The Alliance has accessed everything I uploaded from the Chasca… facility.” The words chew in her mouth, not a colony. Not at all. Crossing her arms, she continues. “We have stumbled upon an underground lab, run by the organization represented by this logo. A para-military terrorist organization that pushes the idea of human supremacy over aliens. They call themselves Cerberus.”  
           _There. I said it. Like ripping off a band-aid._  
          “Er… my translator didn’t get that last word,” Tali says. Her voice is forcibly light. “What is it again?”  
          “Cerberus,” Shepard repeats. “It’s probably not translating because it’s from human mythology. Everything in the Sol system is named after an old human god. Our relay’s the same; it’s named Charon, after the ferryman who helps the dead cross over to the next world. As for Cerberus, it is a giant three-headed dog,” _wait, that word might not translate either,_ “Like, an animal for guarding and attacking, who waits at the gates of the underworld.”  
          “Guarding,” Tali repeats. “So, it protects the dead.”  
           “Not just protecting,” Shepard says, stomach sinking like a pit. “It keeps living out. Keeps the dead in. It keeps…” she holds up both her hands, palms up. “Everyone where they are supposed to be, by order of the gods.”  
          The whole room goes stony as they implication sets in.  
          “As we’ve witnessed, they have access to resources on par with a standing military.” Shepard soldiers on. “They’re headed by a single person, known only by the Alliance code name, ‘The Illusive Man’. Finding a ground-level Cerberus operative is hard enough. The higher up you go, the worse it gets. The Illusive Man himself might as well be a ghost.”  
          “But we have complete records of their operations on Chasca. What did the Alliance find?” Garrus asks, leaning forward.  
          Shepard nods. “Some stuff we already knew; Thorian spores were used on subjects to test infection rate. Rachni were studied as biological weapons; one of the subjects was the Alliance’s own Admiral Jason Kahoku. I am told that Kahoku was personally heading an investigation into a suspected Cerberus operation. I… guess he got too close.”  
          She can’t help but tense at the words; the fact resurfaces in her mind; _he had a wife and three kids._ “Some stuff we didn’t know. They were attempting to chemically augment biotic power. They were also investigating thresher maws. It’s apparently a huge… sand worm?” She raises an eyebrow.  
          “Hah! Trying to use a thresher maw to fight. Dumb assholes.” Wrex cackles from his back seat. “We have those things on Tuchanka, y’know. You don’t fight ‘em. You only survive.”  
          “About that. Six years ago an Alliance unit was sent to the planet Akuze to investigate a missing colony. Those marines also vanished without a trace. It’s been labelled a cold case… until now. According to those files I handed over, the whole incident was a lure set by Cerberus, to test the battle capability of the Alliance against a ‘grievous unexpected threat’.”  
          For a few long moments, no one answers. Then Ashley says, “No _fucking_ way.”  
          “Yes fucking way, Chief. In a quirk of the galaxy, thresher maws are a species that inhabit multiple planets. And apparently Cerberus is very interested in controlling its own personal sandworms.” Shepard’s stomach gives a painful twist. _Akuze..._  
          “Some other tidbits: we have reports of Cerberus bases on the planets Binthu, Ontarom, and Nepheron. Rest assured that the Alliance has already long sent the cruisers that are going to seize and investigate these places with much enthusiasm. We also have records of several incidents they carried out in Earth cities and Alliance colonies, which exposed humans to element zero dust. Until now… these incidents were thought to be industrial accidents.”  
          “By the Goddess…” Liara says faintly. “In order to generate the development of biotic power.”  
          “Well, either biotic power like our much-beloved Lieutenant,” Shepard motions to Kaidan. “But mostly terminal brain cancer.”  
          “Question!” Wrex bellows, leaning and raising one clawed hand high in the air. It’s a purely human gesture; Liara and Tali look at him as if he’s lost his mind.  
          Shepard can’t help the smile. “Let’s hear it, then.”  
          “You said these Cerberus _pyjaks_ are pro-human, anti-alien. Sure, I get it. But.” Wrex studies the hexagon logo with his dark red eyes before he turns back to her. “All these stories you’re telling us are nothing but dead humans. Even this secret lab you busted didn’t have a single dead alien. Not counting the thresher maw and the rachni, I guess. In any case, sure sounded like a net loss for them.”  
          “You’re not wrong, Wrex. I don’t…” Shepard shrugs, helpless. “I suppose it was just a price the Illusive Man was willing to pay.”  
          The mood dampens yet again at the memory of the grisly labs, laid out one after another. Nameless biotics. General Kahoku. _Akuze._ Shepard struggles through it. “According to Anderson, this is the biggest raid against Cerberus we’ve ever had. Alliance brass wouldn’t hope for this much in their wildest dreams. This was a victory, guys.” She nods, forcing the positive attitude and almost succeeding. “Dismissed.”  
          She watches as they file out. Not a victory against Saren. But still a victory, and she’ll take it. Turning, Shepard enters the commands to shut down the monitor, to banish the glowing symbol and all the malice it represents.  
          “Commander,” Garrus says, approaching her and stopping a short, respectful distance away. “I just wanted to ask – did the Alliance mention anything about the artifact? Or the extraction team that was mentioned…?”  
          “I’m afraid not,” Shepard says, turning to face him. “They acknowledged Cerberus had some sort of unidentified tech, but the primary investigations didn’t lead them anywhere.”  
          “Even with the recorded evidence? With how it… looked?”  
          “Even then. The promise of busting three separate Cerberus posts was too much to let go. After they seize those other bases, they’ll chase after it the best they’re able. It looks like it’s tied to the spikes we found on Eden Prime, after all. But… it probably won’t matter. Once Cerberus realizes the Alliance compromised this station, they’ll go to ground.”  
          “The Alliance is giving it up as lost.”  
          She can’t discern what he’s feeling through body cues, but she can guess: _This is a man who loathes his loose ends._ She shrugs, but says firmly, “We still have no idea where their extraction team took it. The Alliance could throw everything they have pursuing it, and it would still probably lead to nothing. They had to choose which direction to strike, and they took the exposed targets.”  
          “Of… course.” Garrus hesitates, then nods. “You said that this was the biggest raid against Cerberus to date. Of course they would want to capitalize on it.”  
          Has she convinced him? She can’t tell. Damn culture barriers. “Between the industrial incidents, the meddling in the Thorian case, Admiral Kahoku’s murder… It got personal for a lot of people in the Alliance. And… I can’t say I disagree.”  
          “It was personal for you, too?”  
          The tightness in her chest returns. The urge to tell him, tell someone, is disproportionately strong – as is the need to keep it close, or risk letting more of her past become another overblown story. _Do you want him to understand, or not?_ “Keep something between us, Vakarian?”  
          “Ah – sure.” He crosses his arms, stands just a bit straighter – but his mandibles give a shallow flick.  
          “Akuze. The Alliance unit lured against a thresher maw.” The words hang in her throat. “I was supposed to be on that mission with them.”  
          Garrus’ inner jaw drops as his mandibles flare out. Even with the extra anatomy, it’s a strangely human gesture. He composes himself in the next moment, but the shock is obvious. “You – you were…”  
          “The week before I was supposed to be transferred to that unit, I took leave. One last big vacation. To Elysium.” She snorts a humorless laugh, reaching up to touch the scar that halves her eyebrow. “After that, I was in the hospital, healing up. And the stuff I’d pulled during the Blitz meant I was headed for N-School instead, even though I didn’t know it then.”  
          “Well, if you had been there, it would have been different,” Garrus says. “You would have – ”  
          “Garrus, if I had been there, I would have been dead. Just like the rest of them,” Shepard answers. “I never served with them. I didn’t even really know them. But I would have died with them, and it would have been because Cerberus was pulling the strings. That tech is totally unknown, somehow tied to the geth, and if that vid was any indication, it’s even causing Cerberus problems. If letting it go means we can storm the hell out of three entire stations, then I can let it go.”  
          “In… that case,” Garrus begins slowly. “Is it too much to hope that the artifact makes more trouble for them while they have it?”  
          Shepard laughs. “Vakarian, that is just the right amount of hope to have.”  
          “Good.” He flounders. “I look forward to hearing any news on that you might get. Thank you, Commander.”  
          "You're welcome, Vakarian. I'll keep everyone posted." She watches him go. That acceptance – was it because he actually agreed, or was it the turian cultural standard of obeying superiors? _I suppose it doesn’t matter._  
           _This is the first we’ve seen of Cerberus in a long while, Shepard._ Anderson had contacted her in mere minutes after she’d submitted her report with the facility’s data. And he had been very clear about the implications.  
          After a history of sabotage, assassinations, election rigging and candidate plants – not to mention constant acts of terrorism and harassment against non-humans – Cerberus has been effectively silent for almost a year. _They’ve either gotten too good to be caught,_ Anderson had said, _or they’re being cautious on purpose, planning something big._  
          No good options.  
          But it’s out of her hands now – handed over to Alliance teams that are probably reaching the nearest base at the very moment. _And if Cerberus is planning something, it’s up to the Alliance to root it out. And this information cache should be enough to cast some light. At the very least it should give us a leg up, at least for a little while…_  
          But she can still hear Garrus’ voice, standing beside her in the lab. _“They have an Alliance Admiral?_ ”  
          One of humanity’s highest-ranking soldiers, kidnapped and used as a test subject. There was no better example of how many steps ahead Cerberus kept, no matter how hard the Alliance chased. Garrus had also said that every species had their own version – but did other species have as many problems reigning theirs in?  
          It was a restless, itchy feeling – after the things Shepard had seen on Chasca, waiting to learn what the other bases held was maddening…  
          Shepard stops herself mid-thought. _Looks like Garrus isn’t the only person around here who loathes loose ends._ Despite the realization, the fidgety energy doesn’t fade. She wants the victory, wants the contribution, wants the knowledge.  
           _But that’s not my battle._ Shepard tells herself this, over and over. Let her fellow marines do their jobs. And she’ll do hers. _My mission is Saren. Can’t leave him to his plans to go chasing down Cerberus._  
          She tells herself this, but the restless feeling doesn’t go away.


	15. Hurricane's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- If the stories of how Shepard survived the Blitz sound familiar, that's deliberate. Looks like Archangel takes a page from her book in ME2...
> 
> \- I moved Liara's 'confession' scene to this point so it wasn't so... sudden? Anyways, the game kinda glosses over it, and I wanted to give it a little more weight since Liara's relationship with Shepard is such a big part of the over-arching story. I also tried to treat it with as much respect as I could. Several rewrites later and I still feel like it's a bit awkward, but that might come with the territory.

          Weapons are reassembled and clean, suit checks are done. Med bay inventories are completed and signed for. As she turns the corner, Shepard is already formulating where to go next. No news, no leads, no mission – but she’ll be damned before this evening goes to complete waste. Maybe go to Engineering, see if Adams needs anything second-checked or signed for…  
          A burst of laughter shakes her thoughts. _The mess deck?_ Words follow, projected and careful. Someone telling a story. Shepard moves down the short connection walkway to the deck, listening hard as the voice slowly becomes clear.  
          “So, we’re busting our butts, trying to reach this place in time. Admiral Kahoku – he was Captain of the _Agincourt_ back then – tells us that we need to be ready for the worst. Elysium was a resort planet, you know. Barely any defenses. They would have had to hold out for almost twelve hours at this point, just bad news all around,” Pressly’s voice says. There’s an energy behind his words – enjoyment, pride. “So we blow through atmo like nobody’s business, blasting batarian pirate ships out of the sky like nothing. I mean, I couldn’t even count how many the _Agincourt_ destroyed.”  
          Sounds of amazement echo him. Shepard smiles. _War stories._ She knew Navigator Pressly had been present as the Blitz, serving on the spearhead ship of the Alliance rescue. The two of them have only spoken of it briefly since being assigned together on the Normandy. Still, it feels strange to hear something so close to her from another point of view.  
          But the volume of the laughter – how many people are hearing this? Pressly’s made his own views on aliens well known.  
          “So you got down to the planet? And Shepard was down there, right?” The high voice is filtered through a speaker. _Tali._  
          Of course! But we didn’t know it then!” Pressly’s voice is eager. “We finally touch down after they all go running. We find some survivors - just tourists. They all tell us the same thing: an Alliance soldier named Shepard led the defense. This soldier sent the civilians to a resort on a seaside island and then holed up in some high-rise restaurant tower at end of the only connection bridge, between the pirates and the tourists. Bombed and trapped the bridge, sniped the pirates as they were funneled across.”  
          “That’s a gamble,” Wrex’s baritone voice says. “A stopgap. They would have worn her down eventually. And when they did reach her, she’d be defenseless.”  
          “Exactly right!” Pressly says. “No one had seen her since the attack started. Captain Kahoku sent some men up the tower to see. The whole time, I’m thinking, ‘Well, this Shepard must be ten feet tall and built like a brickhouse!’ And they bring down this woman with dark-red hair, just wearing a swimsuit – she’s pale as a ghost, can barely even stand, got a gash through her brow all covered in blood. I remember thinking she must be another tourist, hiding or something – ” He pauses for dramatic effect. “But she’s got this giant sniper rifle! Almost as big as she is! And I realize: that’s Shepard!”  
          Laughter erupts again, but along with it is some good-natured ribbing. She hears someone say something – Ashley’s voice?  
          “I know, I know!” Pressly responds to the unheard comment. “I was one-hundred-percent wrong! But Captain Kahoku walks over, and she tries to salute, but she’s so exhausted her arms are shaking. Kahoku was always the kind of guy to crack a joke, keep things light, but instead he just smiled at her. All he said was, ‘At ease, soldier. I’ll take it from here.’”  
          Shepard’s heart gives a painful beat at the shared memory, deepened with the memory of Kohaku’s face on the Cerberus computer monitor, of his body under a sheet. Whatever else that happens at those other Cerberus bases, she sincerely hopes it hurts them.  
          The mess deck audience seems to reach the same conclusion. Pressly breaks the sad silence by finishing. “Good people. They’re all good people… I’m proud to serve with them.”  
          It’s all she can take. Right on cue, Shepard rounds the corner of the partition and surveys the group.  
          “Hey! And it’s the woman herself!” Pressly says, brightening considerably. An enthusiastic cheer resounds the room.  
          The tables of the mess deck have been pushed together to allow room for everyone. Pressly sits at one side, with a sandwich on his plate. With him is Ashley and Kaidan. Chief Engineer Adams sits on another side with Tali and Wrex. On the nearest side is Joker, Liara, and Garrus, looking over their shoulders towards her.  
          “Well, well, well.” Shepard crosses her arms in mock solemnity. “I didn’t know we were having a party.”  
          “Impromptu get-together, Commander!” Kaidan says. “Pressly’s just eating his dinner, while we make him tell us war stories.”  
          “And he has war stories about a certain someone!” Tali adds.  
          Shepard smiles as she approaches the unified table. “I hope it has a happy ending.”  
          “Yes! You must tell us.” Liara leans across the table to peer at Pressly. “How does it end?”  
          “End?” Pressly cackles. “That was the ending, Doctor T’Soni! What more is there to tell? I got my officer’s commission! Shepard went to the Interplanetary Combatives Training Program and graduated as an N7! And here we are! It’s someone else’s turn!”  
          “Who can beat that story, Pressly?” Adams laughs. “You were a part of a flawless offense against batarian pirates and met Commander Shepard in her big defining moment!”  
          Shepard sits between Garrus and Liara, mind racing. They’ll ask for her to tell a story next, and she desperately needs some sort of deflection…  
          “Oh, come on,” Wrex says. “All the people we got here, and none of us assholes has a good story? Turian?”  
          “Nothing you wouldn’t expect from a C-Sec officer,” Garrus replies. “Although, there was one time we had to break up a protest of hanar...”  
          “The ones that look like jellyfish – ” Ashley stops with a forced cough. “Er, the ones with the tentacles?”  
          “Right, Chief Williams,” Garrus says, ignoring her misstep. “They worship the Protheans as gods. Some of them protest Prothean digs as disrespectful, or try street-corner preaching to try and win converts. They were angry that – .”  
          “Bah! Pass. Already boring,” Wrex says. “What about you, Gunnery Chief Williams?”  
          “What? Me?!” Ashley holds up both hands, eyes wide. “Mine are gonna be the worst here. I joined the Alliance, went to Eden Prime, then ended up on the Normandy thanks to dumb fucking luck.” She hesitates, lowering her hands, and adds, “And, um. Guys? Everyone. Please. Call me Ash.”  
          Shepard watches the scene, feeling a bit blindsided. Ashley and Pressly – the two vocal anti-alien proponents – sitting here, interacting with aliens. Comfortably and happily. And Ashley, requesting they call her a nickname?  
          “Y’know who I wish was here? Anderson,” Joker says. “Would’ve loved to hear how he ran into Saren the first time.”  
          “Really? Because I bet he’d have some things to say about you Alliance marines, actually,” Tali says.  
          “Yes!” Liara adds, glancing to where Shepard sits beside her. “I’m sure that would be – very illuminating.”  
          “Fine! I’ll go next. Figures I’d be the one to save the day,” Wrex says. “Listen up, kids. I’m gonna tell you about my easiest mission ever.”  
          “Oh – great…?” Kaidan says.  
          “So. Back in the day I used to run with an asari commando as a mercenary partner. Name was Aleena. One of the best fighters I’ve ever met. So not long after we get this working relationship going, I get a contract for a bounty – and I’m talking huge. Betray your best friends kinda huge. Which is a problem, because the target of the bounty was – Aleena! So, I let her know about this little dilemma we have, and we decide we’re gonna have to duke it out on this abandoned space station. I head over there with all the ammo I can carry, and…”

 

          Shepard walks down the dimmed hallway towards the captain’s quarters. Another wasted night, technically speaking. By this time tomorrow, the Normandy will be out of the Attican Traverse sector and back within Citadel space. She can claim a trip back to the galaxy capital is necessary for refueling and repairs, but after that?  
           _I’m looking for a Prothean beacon. Saren has leads. Someone out there knows. If I can’t get access to records, then it might be time to start relying on the Spectre immunity and resorting to the contingency plans. Even against the Council._  
           _Is this how it normally is for Spectres? I’m set above the law, and so I’m automatically expected to work without it?_ It’s not a comforting thought. And in the meantime, she’s just expected to do nothing but waste time?  
          But. The crew sitting together, talking, sharing stories. Ashley and Pressly. Garrus and Wrex. Even Joker, leaving the ship’s automated virtual intelligence to man the routes while he socializes.  
           _It happened without me forcing it._ Shepard stops before the door to her quarters, pursing her lips. _They all just needed… time._  
          Not a wasted night, then. They needed this – maybe she needed this. To just sit around and shoot the shit and not having to worry about the end of the galaxy – of knowing they were the only ones chasing after Saren – knowing that if it all goes bad, there’s no backup plan.  
           _Stop it. You can’t keep dwelling on_ –  
          “Commander.”  
          A voice, soft and uncertain behind her. Shepard turns.  
          Liara stands in the hallway, awkwardly stiff. She hesitates. “I know it is late in SST time, but could I speak to you in private? Just for a moment?”  
          “Sure.” Shepard crosses her arms and stands a bit straighter. Of course Liara is nervous. Saren’s plans, the Prothean vision of a lost war – Shepard needs to say whatever she can to keep morale up.  
          “I…” Liara’s eyes drop to the ground. “I must admit to you. I have spent more time examining… you – your past, I mean – your accomplishments –”  
          Shepard’s stomach does a flip. This is not the direction the conversation was supposed to take.  
          “It is not unusual for me to express an intense… fascination with things that interest me,” Liara continues, keeping her gaze carefully on the ground. “This is a personality trait I am sure you are already aware of. I believed that this fascination was because you have had such experience with Prothean technology. It was only natural for me to involve you in my investigations…”  
          She pauses, clearly not finished, so Shepard holds her peace. Another beat of silence passes.  
          “But now. I must admit, both to myself and to you. My interest in you is not fully professional. I am… attracted to you, Commander Shepard. My inexperience with humans leaves me unable to interpret your feelings for me. And asari culture places much emphasis on making one’s feelings known, especially to those we care about. So I say this in the interest of honesty, and in the hopes that…” Her eyes dart up, looking straight at Shepard. “That you return my feelings.”  
           _Holy. Hell._ Every response – damn, just forming basic words to a sentence – has evaporated completely. N7 training on asari comes back with childish common facts, recited by rote: _Asari favor cooperation and diplomacy in social interactions. Asari can live over a thousand years. Asari are a race of biotic monogender aliens. Asari can have children with any race, regardless of amino orientation_ –  
           _Thanks, N7 training._ Doctor T’soni is compassionate, optimistic, with all the patience stereotypical of her culture – but she is also realistic, without crossing the line into hard-hearted. She is someone that Shepard has protected, guided, tried to do right by. She is above all a caring civilian who should have never had to get caught up in the ugliness they find themselves hunting.  
          But Shepard also knows, even with a cursory check of her own startled heart – “I… I’m sorry, Doctor. But in all honesty…” _Just buck up and say it._ “I don’t… feel that way about you. I’m flattered – I really am, because never in a thousand years did I think I would ever be getting a confession of love from an asari, of all people, but… I don’t…” She stalls, and yet again her words fail her. All she can say is – “I really am sorry.”  
          “I understand. Then… I must ask your forgiveness for allowing my own feelings to complicate this assignment. And I must regret that my immaturity has caused things to – ” Her face gives a twist that she only removes with effort. “Caused things to become even more awkward between you and I – ”  
          “What? No-!” Shepard takes a step forward, hands hovering just above Liara’s shoulders. _Asari don’t have the touching taboo like turians, but is it still ok if I_ – “You’re apologizing for saying that you’re in love with me? Liara, you haven’t done anything wrong. ”  
          Slowly, Liara reaches up and takes Shepard’s hands, hovering above her shoulders. She holds them between both of hers, gentle but firm. “Forgive me,” she repeats again. “The trust you have showed me, the comfort I felt when my mother died, knowing that you had survived that pain before me… I don’t want to betray it…”  
          “Nothing’s betrayed,” Shepard says. She doesn’t move or draw her hands away. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong, or offend me, or anything. It’ll be alright.”  
          Liara doesn’t respond.  
          “…And, listen,” Shepard adds on, taking a breath. “Don’t go pushing yourself after this, just to prove something. If you need space – from me, I mean – then absolutely take it. Whatever you need to move past this. It won’t affect your standing with this mission, or negate all the times you’ve helped.”  
          “Space?” Liara’s hands tighten around Shepard’s just for a moment. Then she slowly lets them go. “I don’t think… I only want…”  
          She pauses, and the silence hangs for a few patient moments. “I want things to continue as they have so far. I want to… continue to know you, but to know you as a person, and not as a character in an extranet article. I want… to be your friend, Claire Shepard.”  
          “Well, I’m almost positive I’m really not worth all this. And I definitely don’t know what you see in an Alliance lackey. All I’m really good for is sneaking around and shooting.” Liara gives a quick, teary laugh; it sounds earnest enough. Shepard finishes, “But if you want to keep going, as friends, then… I can’t think of anything better.”  
          Wiping away her tears, Liara looks back at Shepard and gives another sheepish – and sorrowful – laugh. “I’m… I’m relieved. I only wanted…”  
          She doesn’t finish, and for a second, Shepard has the urge to suggest that maybe they should take some time of no contact, just to cool off, but – she can practically see the hurt look Liara would wear. _But wouldn’t it be in her best interest? Even if she doesn’t see it?_ Then – _Don’t be so domineering. She said she wanted to keep going like before. You said you were going to honor it._ And finally – _If something ever does come up, we might not have the luxury of no contact. This might not be a full-fledged war, but it’s a still a battle and everyone needs to pitch in._  
          And so, pulled in every different direction, Shepard only says, “It’s all right, Liara. Just head back and get some sleep, okay? I’m sorry that I… made you cry.”  
          “It is indeed alright, Commander. And please… you have done nothing wrong, either. Your companionship is all I could ask for, and I look forward to calling you my – friend.” Another pause, this one more decidedly awkward than the rest. Then – “Good night, Commander.”  
          “Good night, Liara.”  
          Shepard watches her go, with a whirl of conflicted feelings. A confession from an asari? N7 training covers all kinds of obscure situations – combat and stealth and negotiations and survival – and yes, dealing with the cultural boundaries of the galaxy’s different species. But nothing as specific as turning down the confessions of one of the galaxy’s most widely-desired races.  
           _I don't think I handled that well. All I’m good for is sneaking around and shooting – no kidding._ Shepard turns and enters her captain’s quarters, and closes the door behind her.

 

          The click of her comm channel opening is quiet, but ingrained habit wakes Shepard anyways. Through the bleary darkness, Joker’s voice speaks into her ear.  
          “Commander Shepard. Requested presence in the comm room, ma’am.”  
          “Alliance?” At this point, Shepard doesn’t feel anything at the news. Some news about Cerberus would be nice.  
          “No ma’am. It’s… ah…”  
          “Council?” Her heartbeat quickens.  
          “Not exactly…?” Joker clears his throat. “It’s… like, part of the Council. Er, two-thirds. Councilors Tevos and Valern are requesting to speak with you.”  
          “Ah?” Shepard rises from her bed and heads to the tiny side bathroom. _That’s the… asari and salarian councilors. Tevos and Valern._ It occurs to her that she’s never really connected the names to the actual people. _Do I have to? The only difference is the different ways they chew my ass._ It’s not a professional line of thought, but there it is. She turns on the sink and splashes on water on her face. “I’ll be right there, Joker.”  
          “Aye aye, ma’am.” The channel clicks off.  
          A quick minute in the bathroom and a change into a presentable uniform leaves her ready to face them. This doesn’t seem to be an official meeting, what with the turian councilor conspicuously absent. _Sparatus. Councilor Sparatus._ Even so, on the chance that they will still be using holograms, appearances will still very much matter.  
          True to her suspicions, two glowing representations load as she enters the comm room and the channel opens. The solemn form of the asari councilor – Councilor Tevos – nods down to Shepard in recognition.  
          “Shepard,” she says. “I hope we find your mission well.”  
          Shepard grits her teeth. When was the last time she even spoke with the Council? Saren could be at the Conduit right now, for all any of them know. “Fine, Councilor.”  
          “That is fortunate,” Tevos answers, satisfied with the niceties. “We have contacted you with news.”  
          Swallowing hard, Shepard waits, feeling her pulse pick up again. But after a few agonizing seconds, nothing is offered. Finally Shepard bites. “News, ma’am?”  
          With much grace and ceremony the asari councilor motions to her counterpart. Valern nods once, his wide amphibian eyes blinking rapidly. “I have reports that you will be interested to hear. Reports from the STG.”  
          All of the impatience and nervous energy screeches to a halt. The plainly-named Special Tasks Group is the salarian military’s legendary problem solvers, something akin to the Alliance’s N7 marines. It was well-known that Spectres themselves were modeled after them – but if given a choice of either, a salarian would choose the STG position without a second thought.  
           _Don’t get your hopes up. They haven’t helped you so far, right?_ But on the other hand - _information from the fucking STG._  
          Councilor Valern fidgets where he stands. Without waiting for Shepard to respond, he continues, “We sent an STG cell to investigate a planet on the edge of Citadel space due to… suspicious activity. We’ve had our first contact with them only a few hours ago – a badly garbled message over one of our emergency channels. The only thing we heard was the name – Saren Arterius – before the comm cut out.”  
          Shepard’s heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of her chest. They’re helping. They found him. It beggars all belief. “C-councilor… Thank you.” she starts.  
          For what little she knows of salarian body language, Valern looks pleased at her reaction. “Think nothing of it. It seemed prudent to pass this information along.”  
          “Of course, this is an act of benevolence entirely on Councilor Valern’s part,” the asari councilor says, the serene look never slipping off her face. “You would do well to remember that the Citadel Council as a whole does not involve itself in the missions of its Spectres.”  
           _So, Valern is acting on his own._ It perhaps explains why the turian councilor is absent – disgusted at the blatant hand-out for the human. Or maybe they thought best to not tell him at all. But Shepard can’t be angry. Not now. “Send my ship the coordinates and we’ll go right now. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”  
          “Of course, Shepard. May the knowledge serve you well,” Valern replies. The asari councilor says nothing, and the holograms blink out.

 

          Every last person on the Normandy crew is awake and in full alert at their station as the ship backtracks at top speed. Their position was close – almost suspiciously close – but the briefing to her combat personnel had been equally short, based on the scant information she had.  
          But it was enough.  
          Virmire. A lush tropical world, which had been attempted for colonization several times over Citadel history, and raided to ruin by Terminus pirates each time. Considered too close to lawless space to be feasible, it was promptly forgotten by every major backer in the galaxy.  
          And Saren is there.  
          The comm in Shepard’s ear is a cacophony of voices, requesting orders and reporting in. Pressly reports the coordinates of the Alliance-mandated escape routes Shepard won’t be using. Engineer Adams confirms the status of the drive core and the stealth systems. She listens in, taking in the chaos as she steps into the helm.  
          Then Ashley’s voice, calm and tense – “Ma’am. You never mentioned ground team.”  
          “Moreau. Open the PA.” Shepard speaks without responding over comm. When he complies, she answers back and addresses the whole ship. “Combat crew. I want each and every one of you geared and ready to go. This is all-hands-on-damned-deck.”  
          “Aye aye, skipper,” Ashley answers back privately over comm, sounding amused. Sounding eager.  
          Shepard can relate. Back in the action, suddenly the past lull in her assignment doesn’t seem quite so excruciating. Tracking down a serial killer from Vakarian’s past, busting an entire Cerberus base – it wasn’t bad work. But now. Now she’s on the hunt, and it’s a familiar, energizing feeling. She’s almost brazen with it. _Ok, you bastard. Let’s see how you do against an N7._  
          The atmosphere of the planet is streaked with clouds, partially hiding the wide continents and an equator of lush green. Shepard watches it through the Normandy’s helm windows. At the pilot’s seat, Joker works quickly but silently, throwing nervous glances up at their destination.  
          “Ma’am. We’ve been on our drift trajectory since we entered the upper atmosphere,” Joker finally says. “As per procedure, all non-critical channels are closed and all tightbeams offline. We’re getting a ton of static on the emergency channel Valern patched us in, so I’m assuming that’s our STG cell’s scrambled transmission. We’re headed to the source as we speak.”  
          “Good job.”  
          Still working at the controls, Joker gulps and shakes his head. “Normandy systems are giving us reports of anti-aircraft artillery on the ground. Seems to be arranged in a cluster radiating outward from a specific area.”  
           _It’s him._ Shepard cranes forward, just a bit.  
          “..and I need to really emphasize here, it’s a lot of AA guns. Like… a lot. So I’ll also add that our stealth is up and running full blast, along with our shields, and all of my prayers to any human or alien gods of your choosing.”  
          “We’ll be fine, Moreau. We’re under stealth.”  
          “Right. From AA-gun trackers. So let’s just hope that Saren doesn’t go outside and look up.” Joker straightens his ball cap and concerns himself with interpreting data and manning the helm. “Our targets are right outside the hot zone. Looks like there’s a stretch of beach hidden off by these cliffs. Our signal’s coming from there.”  
          “They’re pinned down,” Shepard says. “If they try to take off they’ll get shot down for sure. What are our options?”  
          “I’ve got room at their site. We can probably risk a landing and then a takeoff, but this close to his base, the noise and engine exhaust are going to be trouble. Even if we can pull it off, the stealth systems aren’t meant for us to be a taxi service. We’re not going to get a lot of chances.”  
          Shepard nods. “Bring us down.”

 

          The Normandy’s cargo bay doors open slowly, revealing a view of sandy beach and water being flung back by the ship’s descent. Shepard is out before it touches down, landing in the shallow surf and striding towards dry land. Behind her, the rest of her combat team follows in full hardsuit armor and armed to the teeth. The region is tropical, all right – the humidity is heavy, hard to breath. Despite the heat, the sky to the north darkens with clouds.  
          In the distance an unmarked salarian ship sits near the edge of jungle, with a small gathering of tents beside it. Salarians in thin plain hardsuits approach, observing the arrival.  
          One makes a pointed beeline towards Shepard, head bobbing in quick approval. His wide amphibian eyes have a gold-flecked rim around the iris and pupil; a rare trait among his people. “Alliance N7! Very good. We’ll need all the help we can get.” He holds out a long-fingered hand towards Shepard, offering a human greeting. “Captain Kirrahe of the 3rd Infiltration Regiment, STG.”  
          Shepard shakes his hand, flattered despite herself at his approval. “Captain Kirrahe. Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance Navy. Representing the SSV Normandy.”  
          “I won’t even ask how you found us here, Commander. I’ll just be grateful for my luck.” He leads her towards the makeshift camp, trailed by their respective troops. “Regardless, we’re in for stalling tactics until the reinforcements arrive.”  
          “Reinforcements?” Her stomach drops.  
          “Yes. We managed to bypass the jamming signal and get a message out through the emergency channel. My people’s councilor should be sending in the cavalry, as you humans say. Until then we can –”  
          Shepard lurches to a halt, staring at him.  
          Kirrahe blinks. “Commander?”  
          “Captain Kirrahe. I am… the newly appointed human Spectre. I was sent here at the Council’s orders. I am – we are – the reinforcements.”  
           _“What?”_ Kirrahe starts, glancing from her to the fully grounded Normandy behind her, then back to her. He blinks rapidly. “That is incorrect, Commander Shepard. I asked for heavy reinforcements. I asked for fleets! The Council knows to heed warnings from the STG – ”  
          “And the message was garbled. You mentioned Saren Arterius. I am the Spectre assigned to his case.” He’s no longer quite so happy she’s here, but she can’t afford to take it personally. Damn if she doesn’t know the feeling of being hung out to dry. “I was sent to investigate.”  
          “Investigate!” Kirrahe says. “I’ve lost half my men ‘investigating’ this place. The investigation is over – we need action – now!” His quick movements are clearly agitated now. “If the Council knew what was here they would have had the military of every race behind you.”  
          He storms toward the camp, and Shepard pointedly follows. “The only thing I was told was that Saren was here,” she says. “What do you know?”  
          “Briefing. Yes. An Alliance crew is… still valuable support. The mission parameters have changed. New information to consider. Still have to carry out our mission.” They reach the grouping of tents, and the STG members scatter to resume their various tasks. Kirrahe motions to Shepard and her crew as a whole. “Welcome to the command center of the 3rd Infiltration Regiment.”  
          They follow him to the shadow of the downed STG ship, to the largest tent in the camp. Inside is a long table is set up with nothing more than a handheld comm station and a paper military map. A few other operatives step back to allow them access, and Kirrahe takes his place before the map to explain.  
          “This is a research facility maintained by the rogue Spectre Saren Arterius. We discovered it while investigating heightened geth activity. We set up our camp here,” he points to the map, “and charted an infiltration route into the facility here.” He points to another quadrant. “There are several AA-guns offline from our sabotage. It has created a functional blind spot in his defenses that was to be used for escape plan. After learning of the research, we abandoned the escape scenario and focused all efforts to offense. Once Saren discovers our position, we will be compromised. We have only one chance - this facility must be destroyed, Commander.”  
          Shepard swallows hard. So Kirrahe must know about the Reapers. But she still has to ask. “What is Saren researching?”  
          “He’s trying to cure the genophage,” Kirrahe says.  
          “I – what?” The planet seems to have jolted beneath her. Shepard leans forward and places a hand on the edge of the table. Her entire combat team is here with her. All of them. She fights the urge to look back at them. Where is Wrex? “The – the – genophage?”  
          “Yes! The genophage?” He blinks. “A biological weapon developed to quell krogan numbers so they wouldn’t have the populace to fight.”  
          “With an army of krogan… he’d be unstoppable.” The cold battlefield logic of it all begins to peek through the shock. In most ways, it’s an obvious choice. _Just like with the rachni. A fighting force of super-soldiers that reproduce fast and in big numbers._ There was only the little matter of curing the genophage itself, but… this was a man who had steered a facility into attempting to clone rachni. ‘Impossible’ was not a word in Saren’s vocabulary.  
          “Yes.” Kirrahe is quiet, grave. “He must not be allowed to complete his research. His cure is a mistake that will cost the whole galax–”  
          “How _dare_ you!” In a swift, silent motion Wrex is at Shepard’s shoulder, slamming both hands down on the table to hard it cracks. “A mistake? That’s my people you’re talking about!”  
          “Yes, a mistake!” Kirrahe doesn’t even flinch. “With krogan soldiers at pre-Rebellion reproduction? Giving Saren that power is nothing else!”  
           _“Augh!”_ Wrex straightens in a single violent motion and storms out, practically growling. No one bars his way.  
          No one speaks.  
          “Is he going to be a problem?” Kirrahe finally says, looking to Shepard. His tone is neutral; simply a captain taking inventory of the situation.  
          It doesn’t calm Shepard’s stunned adrenaline spike. The outburst was quick and Wrex had removed himself before it escalated to something else. Everything considered, that is all she can ask of him.  
          But that was entirely the problem. That fast, vicious movement, his tone of voice – not once since coming aboard the Normandy has Wrex reacted this way. In fact – this might be the first time amongst them he’s ever been truly angry.  
          “No. It won’t be a problem.” Shepard finally says. She finally looks up, and just happens to catch eyes with Kaidan, who stands with Ashely barely a stride away. She sees his jaw slowly clench, and he swallows. This time, there’s no good-humored quip he can offer to defuse the situation. Looking back to Kirrahe, Shepard nods, more to herself than anything. “I’ll take care of it.”  
          “Understood,” Kirrahe says. “If I may, Commander. Our previous plans should be revised to include the support of you and your team. I will work with my men to form a complete plan of attack. I ask for your feedback once we’ve decided.”  
          “Of course, Captain. I’ll be – addressing my squad, in the meantime.” She doesn’t have to clarify. Stepping back out into the humid beach, Shepard motions to her gathered crew. Minus their resident krogan.  
          “Well, this is quite a situation we’ve got. At least we found Saren,” Kaidan says, rubbing the back of his neck.  
          “We’ve literally landed on the doorstep of his base,” Garrus says. “This is our chance.”  
          “Right, but still,” Kaidan says. “Like we thought we only had to find him and the rest would just be easy.”  
          “It’s not Saren I’m worried about,” Ashley adds bluntly. “It’s Wrex that’s going to be a problem here.”  
          “Williams, I’m going to talk to him,” Shepard starts. It’s not a total relapse, but the darkness creeping in Ashley’s voice can’t be ignored. “Just like I’d talk to anyone else if they were upset.”  
          Ashley opens her mouth and starts to speak, then swallows the words in one breath. Finally she says, “Just be careful, Commander. I mean it.”  
          No one offers anything further.  
          “Right. Everyone, take a few. Once this operation gets under way it’s going to be a fight for our lives. This is the last gear-check you’re going to get.”  
          They all nod and give various replies of agreement. Shepard turns to face where Wrex is standing, farther down the beach. Ashley crosses her arms and tracks her commander’s path.  
          Wrex stands a good fifty meters away, out at the edge of the water. Knee-high crustaceans skitter around him on tripod legs, until he lowers the shotgun and blasts one point blank. Shepard frowns at the burst of meat and exoskeleton. The rest of the creatures flee to the water.  
          Even as she approaches, Wrex doesn’t turn to face her. The shotgun also remains firmly in his grip. No one speaks.  
          Nothing can steer this conversation to safer territory. If Saren is curing the genophage to raise an army, she has to stop him. In other circumstances, this would be different, but there’s no time, no resources, no second chances. Whatever Saren seeks, he must be denied.  
          Still. After all the talks, all she’s learned – and now she’s asking Wrex to let it all go.  
          “It’s not right,” he finally says, moving to face her. “What that salarian said. That the cure is a mistake.”  
          “It’s not.” Shepard can agree on that much.  
          “He’s trying to cure the genophage, Shepard. He’s probably the only one in the whole damned galaxy. We can’t stop him.”  
          “Wrex,” Shepard says. “Saren is our enemy. You should be angry at him, not cheering him on.”  
          “Funny. Saren Arterius is trying to cure the genophage, and Claire Shepard is trying to stop him. Seems like those roles should be reversed. Seems like friend and foe are getting kinda… blurry.”  
          Shepard’s heart quickens. Regardless of everything else, Wrex is still an alien that can kill a human with minimal effort. Back on the Citadel, fighting off the thugs chasing Tali – Shepard had fallen – and when he helped her up - Wrex lifts her to her feet like she’s a rag doll.  
          “It’s not a cure, Wrex. It’s a weapon. And you know as well as I do that even if he completes that research, he sure as hell won’t let you stick around to get the benefits.”  
          “That’s. Fine. By. Me.” Wrex practically snarls the words, leaning forward and getting in her face. “This is the fate of my whole race, Shepard. Do you think you’re gonna sway me by comparing that to one life? I’ve stuck by you this far, and y’know what? It’s been a fucking blast. But now you ask me to do this, and–”  
          He moves, and suddenly the end of his shotgun is pressed against her chest, resting against the hardsuit just above her breasts.  
          “I’m not so sure you’re asking me for the right reasons.”  
          Point blank; the kinetic barrier won’t activate, and hardsuit won’t stop the shell. Frozen in the spot, Shepard stares back at him. The N7 training snaps into place – keep calm, keep still, ignore the pounding heart and the cotton mouth. Observe, evaluate, act. _This is Wrex. This is a krogan mercenary who volunteered to help my Spectre mission. He’s not a monster. He’s funny, observant, a hell of a fighter._  
           _This is my friend._ She doesn’t know if she fits the krogan definition in return, but the thought is solid, sure.  
           _So I have to trust him._  
          “If Saren completes this research,” Shepard says, keeping her voice soft and firm, “He’ll only give it to krogan who do what he demands. Whatever that is. The ones that are left won’t even be soldiers. They’ll be tools. Once he has that leash he won’t ever let it go. And once he has the krogan fighting for him, he’ll be pretty fucking hard to kill. He’ll throw every last krogan at his enemies before he lets himself go down.  
          “Can you really call that saving them? Will it be enough for you? Because I’m going to stop Saren. Whatever will help him, I’ll deny him. Whatever he plans, I’ll stop it. So if you think Saren will give the krogan a better future than I will, then…” She exhales. “Pull the trigger.”  
          The two of them stand frozen in the dense humid air. The beach waves lap at their ankles. Wrex’s eyes – blood red with thin slitted pupils – narrow.  
          The shotgun lowers off her chest. He compacts it, then slings it back across the hump of his back. But he does not back away – he’s still close, practically looming over her.  
          “Leashes,” he says. “I remember leashes, Shepard. I remember tools. We fought for the Citadel during the Rachni War. And afterwards – well – maybe we fucked up, but now we’re dying for good. The Council with all that high-and-mighty morality is content to sit by and watch. And that will be a merciful end, compared to what Saren would ask of us.”  
          Shepard doesn’t answer. She’s not supposed to. There’s nothing for her to say.  
          “You’re right. I know it. And I’ll help you, like I’ve helped you this far. But I want your promise – as an Alliance marine, as an N7, as a human, as my friend. Promise me Saren will pay.”  
          “Do you want to be the one to do it?”  
          “I don’t care.” He finally steps away, allows a normal distance. “As long as it happens.”  
          “Then that’s easy. It’s him or us. And it’s sure as hell not going to be us.”  
          “That’s good to hear, Shepard.” Wrex pauses, then nods. “I know I can count on you. And, just as a friendly aside: your Gunnery Chief Williams needs to work on acting casual while drawing a bead. When you’re undercover, discretion is the key, remember.”  
          Before Shepard can cough out an awkward reply, a voice shouts for her from the camp. She turns, seeing an STG operative waving her down, back to the command tent. It’s a short amount of time to be done planning, but then again, these are salarians on the job.  
          Human woman and hulking krogan make their way back to camp. Near the edge of the camp, Kaidan and Ashley stand close in a low, heated exchange. The half-concealed anger looks strange on Kaidan, but Ashley motions quickly, hissing something in return.  
          As she passes Shepard pointed catches the eye of her two marines. Ashley looks suddenly self-conscious under Shepard’s gaze, but Kaidan’s dark look doesn’t fade. _Wrex said that Ashley had been drawing a bead. …On him._ Shepard can guess what the dispute is about. Technically, Wrex pulling a gun on an Alliance officer is grounds for acting in defense – lethal defense. If Ashley had done anything, it would have been completely acceptable by law, for both the Alliance and the Citadel.  
          Keeping her hands down at her sides, Shepard furtively throws them the Alliance hand signal for _stand down, back off_ and then _follow_. To her relief they relax the angry stances and fall into step behind her as she passes. Williams hadn’t trusted her enough to keep the gun holstered, but had then trusted her enough to not actually take the shot. Her level of justification – and Kaidan’s anger at her actions – can be settled later.  
          The rest of the Normandy crew trail along as well, and the group as a whole seems to be coasting along on some anxious energy. _Well, watching a krogan pull a gun on the commanding officer will do that, I guess. We’re in for some awkward conversations later._  
          “Commander, Normandy squad,” Kirrahe greets them as they crowd back inside the tent. The map still sits on the table, which now has a slight dip from the crack in its middle. “We’ve finalized our plans. I’m sure you’ll find no issue with what we’ve decided.” He pointedly makes no comment on Wrex rejoining the meeting.  
          Shepard nods, and so Kirrahe begins, “Our original plan was the last resort in case our reinforcements didn’t arrive in time. We have modified the drive core of our ship into the equivalent of a nuclear bomb. We decided to place the bomb at a pre-selected site that would cause the most damage to the facility. With the previous losses to our personnel, and the projected fatalities reaching that level of the facility; this was for all intents a… suicide mission.”  
          “I see.” Shepard studies the STG captain, then turns her attention back to the map. “Hope we changed the game a little.”  
          “You did indeed,” Kirrahe says. “With the extra manpower, our mission is now thus: We will load the makeshift bomb onto your Normandy. My STG cell will then split into three separate teams. They will attack the facility in a frontal assault to draw the attention of Saren and the geth. Saren already knows that our cell is here, so this will play precisely to his expectations.  
          “A hidden team will enter the facility from our mapped infiltration routes prepared by our sappers. This team will be led by you, Commander. While Saren’s forces are hunting my people, you will head to the detonation site: a large sluice channel that bisects the compound.  
          “After securing the site, the Normandy will use its stealth to take the bomb to the detonation site. It will then lift off and gather the distraction teams at designated pickup spots. The final pickup will be the detonation site itself, where we will activate the bomb. It will have enough delay time to allow us to lift off without being caught in the blast.”  
          Shepard nods slowly, taking it all in. “You’re willing to let your people be the distraction?” It goes against the traditional salarian role of avoiding combat and striking from the shadows.  
          “Well, we won’t be fighting them out in the open and head on,” Kirrahe says. “We’ll give them a good chase.”  
          “And I only need to supply the infiltration team?”  
          “Well…not exactly. The mission would have a much greater chance of success with other contributions. I would request one of your people to remain with the bomb at all times. I cannot spare the soldiers to provide a suitable guard, and we will need someone more accustomed to direct combat, in case we’re discovered.”  
          “Sure. Anything else?”  
          “Yes. My people will be formed into three distraction teams. I will lead one, my lieutenant commander will lead the second. However, the officer who led the third team, Lieutenant Imness, was lost during a recon mission. If you have any personnel adept in small team operations, I would like to request their help.”  
          “I understand,” Shepard said, and already her mind races over her options. “Give me a moment to go over my decisions.”  
          “Of course, Commander. And please, allow me to stress yet again – we will only have one shot for this. If we are discovered, we must ensure whatever it takes to see this place destroyed. As soldiers, we all know the sacrifice we may be called to make.”  
          “I can go with the STG,” Ashley says suddenly, stepping forward to look Shepard in the eye. “I can help them.”  
          “With all due respect, Williams, that’s not your call to make,” Kaidan says quietly.  
          Ashley shoots him a flat glare. “Why is it whenever someone says, ‘with all due respect,’ they really mean, ‘kiss my ass’?”  
          “Williams,” Shepard says sternly. Kirrahe is requesting aid from her on behalf of the STG, so it seems right to send one of her own marines on the job; people she is professionally and legally able to vouch for. But, with that being decided – “The salarian distraction team will be led by Lieutenant Alenko.”  
          “Ma’am!” Ashley practically bristles.  
          “The distraction team will be conducting highly mobile, highly offensive attacks,” Shepard answers back coolly. “Alenko’s biotic ability will be better suited to supporting them. He also has experience leading small teams in heavy-fire combat zones, and he’s never lost a man.”  
          Kaidan stands straight, gives a little nod. “Thanks for the endorsement, ma’am.”  
          “Williams, you will be the one staying with the bomb –”  
          “So, it’s glorified guard duty – ”  
           _“Williams.”_ Shepard says, just barely keeping the heat out of her voice. _Be patient._ “Your role is no less important than Alenko’s. You’re going to be at the heart of the mission; just because you’re not running and gunning doesn’t mean that you’re getting scutwork.”  
          Kirrahe again takes the dissent without judgement – outward judgement, at least. When Ashley does not respond, he turns to Kaidan and blinks. “Lieutenant Alenko. I look forward to working with you. I should introduce you to your team.”  
          “Right.” He glances back to Shepard. “Well, ma’am, this is it. Time to storm the bad guys and save the day, huh?”  
          “It is, Lieutenant.”  
          “Just be careful, okay? I know, I know, N7 infiltrator and all that but… this end of the world crap is a little intimidating, is all. And tell our non-Alliance comrades to be careful too. And Ash…” The stony look he gives her passes in an instant, giving way to good-natured exasperation. “Just… trust the Commander, okay? This woman knows what she’s doing.”  
          “What, like I’m just –!”  
           _“Guys,”_ Shepard says sharply, standing to move between them. She looks from one to the other, and the silence weighs down. “It’s time to go.”


	16. That Old Alliance Saying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the previous one were both one big thing that I wrote all at once and split later. Decided to post them together.
> 
> Sorry.

          “-But you all know the mission, and what is at stake. I trust each of you with my life. I also know of the murmurs of discontent with our operation. Know that I do share your concerns!”  
          Kirrahe addresses the STG cell, gathered in rows on the beach before him. The speech transforms the salarian captain, and he paces before them and gestures with his long sinewy arms as he speaks.  
          “We are trained for espionage! We are here for sabotage! And yet we willingly draw the enemy’s attention this day. We should be legends; but our records will be sealed. Victory may be ours, but glory will never be.  
          “Remember our heroes; the Silent Step, who defeated a nation with a single shot. Or the Ever Alert, who kept armies at bay with hidden information. Our influence stopped the rachni; we held the line. Our influence stopped the krogan; we held the line! Our influence will stop Saren today. We will hold the line!”  
          The salarians cheer at the conclusion. Kirrahe walks among them as the orderly rows break apart into the separate distraction teams. He waves over Kaidan, who jogs across the sand and meets with his temporary crew. Shepard watches them, and feels something tightening in her chest. In the distance, Kaidan says something to team, then breaks into easygoing laughter. Humanity’s new reality –a handsome, picturesque Alliance soldier standing among a handful of tall amphibious aliens with huge dark eyes.  
          Shepard makes her way back down the beach to where the Normandy sits grounded. Its cargo bay doors are open, and a few salarians oversee the loading of their makeshift bomb, rough and wide and almost as taller than they are. Ashley is with them, helping steer and secure the movement dollies within the cargo bay. Tali trails alongside, reading out figures from a data pad monitor as they perform the various checks and safeguards.  
          Garrus and Liara stand near the opened bay doors, watching the activity but staying well out of the way. Shepard approaches them and watches the activity. After a long moment, she finally says, “Liara. You and Tali will be on board the Normandy for the rest of this operation. This is… going to be a war zone, and I’m not asking civilians to undertake joint military operations.”  
          Liara’s shoulders visibly relax. “I understand, Commander. I… appreciate your concern for our safety.”  
           _With all the AA-guns out there, it’s probably not much safer than the ground. But…_ “You’re on board the Normandy, and Jeff Moreau’s at the helm. It can’t get much safer than that.” She finally shifts her gaze to look at Garrus. “Officer? Didn’t think I’d ever be asking you to take part in major covert infiltrations. Not sure how to word this.”  
          “You don’t have to, Commander,” Garrus says, and his two-toned voice is calm and sure. “I’m a soldier of the Hierarchy. I won’t let you down.”  
          “Right. I appreciate it.” Two Alliance marines serving on other stages of the plan, two civilians on board the Normandy, and one Hierarchy soldier at her side. That leaves…  
          “Commander. We going to have some fun?” Right on cue, Wrex saunters up the ramp to the mouth of the cargo bay.  
          “Wrex,” Shepard says, putting her hands on her hips. “You think you have the patience for an infiltration mission? I mean, I’d almost recommend letting you play on the distraction team with Lieutenant Alenko.”  
          “Hah! You’re hilarious, kid. You know I’m good. The end result is blowing this place to hell. I can behave myself until then.” He pauses, and looks her up and down. “I _am_ coming, right?”  
          Shepard is acutely aware of Garrus and Liara, watching for her reaction. Turian and asari. Two Citadel races. Anyone else in the galaxy would remember what happened on the beach. No sane soldier – or a military officer, for that matter – would forget discussions over a point blank shotgun.  
          But then she thinks: _I trusted him. I can keep trusting him._  
          “Yes. You’re the second squadmate for this. If we do end up getting caught, we’re gonna need the muscle.”  
          “Aww, Shepard. Don’t get my hopes up.”

 

          The pre-scouted route alights on Shepard’s helmet HUD as she picks her way down the beach, past the craggy cliffs that don’t quite reach the water. Garrus and Wrex follow behind her in a steady but careful sweep. The teams have split, heading to their respective positions. The feeling in Shepard’s stomach is sick and giddy all at once.  
          Well, here we go.  
          “This place reminds me of Palaven,” Garrus says, half to himself. “It’s almost… uncanny.”  
          “Huh. I was just thinking this place is my kinda vacation,” Wrex says.  
          “How’s that?”  
          “Beautiful scenery, lots of killing!” Wrex’s baritone chuckle crackles through her suit’s comm.  
          Just as displayed, eventually a thin pathway is revealed between the sections of cliff-side. They move their way through the ankle-deep water that reaches in past the cliff face.  
          “Vacation, huh?” Garrus says. “I’m surprised you see it that way. Things got pretty… tense back at the STG camp.”  
          Shepard’s stomach drops.  
          Wrex chuckles again. “Not tense any more. Shepard knows. Saren’s an asshole, and if he’s looking to use the krogan to be a bigger asshole, I’ve got a personal interest to put a violent end to it, y’understand.”  
          “I, uh… huh.”  
          “What? What’d I say?”  
          “Er, nothing.” Garrus clears his throat. “You just surprised me. Growing up on Palaven, I’ve always heard that krogan were just vicious thugs. Savage. But your approach is very reasonable.”  
          By now Shepard can practically feel her heart beating in her throat – _What’s he thinking?!_ Even coming from a place of naiveté – from the mouth of a turian – for him to say that – She takes a breath to say something –  
          “Not surprising,” Wrex says calmly, almost resigned. “It’s easier to feel good about the genophage when the krogan are nothing but monsters. You should’ve never left the Citadel, kid. Out here in reality you’re actually gonna learn something.”  
          Shepard exhales all sharply, all nerves. She holds up a fist for _Stop, halt_ until she remembers halfway that neither of them are Alliance. Nonetheless, they freeze as commanded – and fall silent. From her position at point, she motions to the next stop of their route.  
          The small ravine leads to a half-concealed cove. Now under an order of silence, the team creeps to the back end of the cove as it runs deeper into the ground, turning into a simple cavern. The rocky ceiling above them reveals holes that lets down sunlight in little breaks, here and there. The water from the cove flows inside with the gentle waves.  
          About ten meters in, the back end of the grotto, the work of the STG hides in plain sight. Shepard motions to it, and speaks softly over comm. “Comm check. Commander Shepard, reporting in from initial checkpoint.”  
          “Comm check. Chief Williams, on board the Normandy.”  
          “Comm check, Commander Rentola, at diversion point two.”  
          “Comm check. Lieutenant Alenko, diversion point three.”  
          “Comm check. Captain Kirrahe, diversion point one. Commander Shepard. You are at the perimeter of the facility. My sappers have thinned that wall without breaching it; a maintenance shaft is near your position on the other side.”  
          A thin crack, barely seeping light. Shepard aligns it to her eye and sees the interior of a long maintenance underpass, carved into the cliffside. Narrow industrial lights shine down in thin segments. One wall holds the open end of a massive drainage pipe, covered with a grate. Next to it is a simple industrial door, locked with a security pad.  
          “I see it.” She opens her omni-tool and begins observing the systems listed across the holographic display. As her programs begin the job of dissecting through the security programs, Shepard steals another look through the crack.  
          “The breach was left unbroken to hide our progress. Once the wall is opened, the route is compromised and the operation cannot be recalled.”  
          “Understood.” Shepard motions to Wrex, signaling him to wait at the ready. He complies, crouching by the wall. Glancing back down at her omni-tool, Shepard says, “Infiltration team ready. On your mark, Captain.”  
          Kirrahe’s voice is perfectly calm. “Diversion teams, you have permission to engage.”  
          Somewhere far off, a muffled explosion rocks out. The klaxon screech reaches them from past the wall.  
          Wrex stands and knocks down the last thin disguise of rock with a gentle shove. They crawl through the new entry, climb to their feet and head to the door. The security pad is already a welcoming green by the time Shepard is turning the handle, holding her heavy pistol in her other hand.  
          The maintenance room is cramped with heavy pumps and wide pipes, tanks and valves hissing and humming. Shepard picks her way past and into the next corridor. The rough concrete walls are unmarked, looking like an industrial basement rather than a research facility. _We’re in._  
          Now it’s up to the diversion teams to keep the facility unawares as she moves through it. Her HUD reads the general cardinal direction she must travel to reach the wastewater sluice channel. Even the STG hadn’t been able to enter the facility before this point – she is effectively flying blind to reach the detonation point. Another explosion rocks the facility; lights flicker and dim, and the whole time the outside alarm klaxons wail.  
          The next door opens to a metal catwalk suspended high above a dim warehouse. No alarm lights flash here, and the wail of the siren can barely be heard. Shepard drops to a crouch and observes, moving soundlessly across the grated walkway. The space beneath them contains dark shapes of various objects in Saren’s possession.           Walking among the haphazard storage beneath them are geth.  
          Some are the pale bipedal machines – regular geth, if any geth can be called regular. The single light that makes up their faces shine dusty beams as they move about the room. However, there’s something new – a few geth machines are like nothing Shepard has ever seen. Like the smaller models, but _massive_ – easily nine or ten feet tall, with blood red coloring instead of white. Cradled over their shoulders is something wide-barreled and long.  
           _Looks like a rocket launcher._ She gulps. Tali said the geth were made for menial labor, but those models are nothing but soldiers of war.  
          ”Check out these assholes,” Wrex murmurs through their comms as they creep along the catwalk.  
          “Do not engage,” Shepard answers, and her own voice sounds a little hoarse. Even Wrex would be in trouble against those geth. Garrus, for his part, does not reply. Hidden behind his helm, he surveys the room beneath them as they reach the opposite end of the room – probably formulating combat strategy and backup plans for this battlefield – just in case.  
          Before they exit out of the warehouse and back to relative safety, Shepard shoots the new machines one more glance. The massive red geth do not patrol the warehouse like their small cousins – they merely stand and observe, sweeping the warehouse room with the red spotlight of their faces.  
           _No, not cousins. They don’t follow the same rules as an organic creature._ The geth themselves are the programs within those machines, not the machines themselves. A geth could link its code to another, or upload itself to another platform, like a person changing clothes.  
          But those platforms… Had the quarians created the geth for more than hard labor? It would explain why the war had been decided so quickly.  
          Up some stairs – more cast concrete walls – and through a side-door – Shepard finds herself in a long, low-ceilinged room. To the right are a series of computer monitors and video feed screens. To the left are containment cells, with window panels built into the doors. Most of the cells are wide open.  
          Scattered about the room are about a dozen salarians in simple white scrubs. Some are lying motionless. Others crouch in the corner or remain within the darkness of their cells. Some sway, very gently. Quietly, from every direction of the room, come the noises; soft weeping, giggling, raspy breathing, and a series of babbling sounds that seem close to language but fall very short.  
          The three soldiers halt in the doorway. Finally, Shepard enters with slow careful steps.  
          “Hello? I’m Commander Shepard with the Alliance. I’m here with the STG – is anyone…?”  
          None of them react.  
          “Are these… Kirrahe’s missing men?” Garrus says, sticking close to Shepard’s position. “He said they lost people doing recon missions.”  
          “So they didn’t kill them. Wonder why,” Wrex says.  
          “Alliance, she says.” The words come very fast, over the babbling around the room. One of the hunched forms stands, but does not turn. “Knew they would send somebody.”  
          “Sir?” Shepard says. She leaves her gun pointed at the ground but steadies her grip with both hands. “Are you hurt? What’s your status?”  
          “This room. This place. This room is too small, and too crowded, and too noisy…”  
          “Sir, you need to evacuate. This facility is under attack.”  
          “…and too noisy, and I’ve been here since the beginning! From the start! Was just scouting, just following orders, and I think you will find that I am very. Good. At. Following. Orders.”  
          His words are quick and blunt – almost angry. Stopping a few good paces away, Shepard raises the gun, just a little. Garrus and Wrex monitor the other salarians about the room as she focuses on her target. “Sir?”  
          “…Always follow my orders, even with all the whispering, even when they are repeated, over and over and over! Why repeat when they are so simple?”  
          Suddenly he turns and lunges like a feral animal. “ _So damn simple!_ ”  
          The gun fires before he’s even crossed half the distance between them. Wrex and Garrus, sweep their guns around the room, waiting for the follow-up attack.  
          All the while, the gentle noises – crying, laughing, half-attempts at language – never pause.  
          “What the holy hell is going on here?” Shepard forces the exhale, keeping her gun trained on the body.  
          “Some kind of psychological warfare?” Garrus muses. “It has to be.”  
          “Whatever it is, it looks like it’s working,” Wrex says. “Are we just…. leaving these guys here?”  
          “We don’t have a choice.” Shepard wrenches the words out. “We can’t physically evacuate all these people. We have to complete this mission while we can and –”  
          “Hello? Is someone there?” Words call out over the babbling yet again.  
          “Who’s there?” Raising her pistol, Shepard tracks the voice to its source; one of the few closed cells on the far side of the room. In the small observation window, a salarian face peers out at them.  
          “Oh!” he says. “Are you the ones that cut the power to some of the cells? I thought I heard gunshots. What’s going on?”  
          “Ah… Shepard hazards a glance back towards the room behind her, where many operatives sit incoherent.  
          “I’m Lieutenant Ganto Imness of the 3rd Regiment, STG,” The salarian offers. “Captured during the last recon sweep. I hope the fleets have shown up to blow this place sky-high.”  
          “Imness?” Shepard repeats the name. “Kirrahe mentioned you. I’m sorry to say, but it looks like I’m all you guys are going to get.”  
          He nods. “That’s fine. Just make sure it gets done, N7. I’m begging you.”  
          “Right. Kirrahe told us about the genophage cure.”  
          Imness gives a start, and his wide black eyes get even wider. “The genophage cure?” He laughs a little. “Commander. The genophage research here was symbolic at best – you could barely call it a cure. They only really looked into cloning krogan soldiers, but it’s all more or less abandoned at this point.”  
          “I… see.” Shepard takes a breath. _Looks like that little moral dilemma solved itself._ “Then what’s going on here?”  
          “Research into indoctrination,” Imness says.  
          For a second time it seems the ground shifts beneath Shepard’s feet.  
          The Prothean vision – a wartime broadcast to survivors.  
           _Imperial ranks infiltrated by indoctrinated._  
          Lady Benezia, weeping in her daughter’s arms.  
           _I will never be myself again._  
          “I can’t tell you much,” Imness continues almost conversationally. “They don’t go discussing theories to their test subjects. I just hear them mention it now and then. But I can tell you that all of the captives are either dead, or… like that.” He points past her shoulder, to the room beyond. “I was one of the last captured, so I’ve been lucky. I mean… I hope I’ve been lucky.”  
          He pauses, then blinks. “Now, please, Alliance. Blow this place up.”  
          “Imness. I’m going to let you out. Okay?” She slowly reaches for her omni-tool and begins hacking through the security. “If you attack me like the other guy did, I’m shooting you dead. Understood?”  
          “No complaints here, Commander.” As the door opens, he holds up both long-fingered hands and nods to the three guns pointed at him. “Please don’t think less of me, but I’m going to try to run out past the blast zone, now. Good luck. I mean it.”  
          With that quick salarian speed, Imness is back out the way they came, towards the freedom. Shepard watches him go.  
          “So. Looks like we’ve got bigger problems than a krogan army,” Garrus says.  
          Wrex sighs. “Assholes. Can’t even cure the damned genophage right.”  
          Leaving the STG test subjects, Shepard moves to the only other door and passes through. Another corridor leads outside, back into the sticky, heavy heat. The distraction team’s attacks boom out from the distance, and the sirens continue to blare out their warning. Luckily, no geth can be seen in the open spaces.  
          The squad covers a narrow, open space, cross over a concrete divider, and into the next building. The interior looks like an office of some kind; all windows and cabinets and a long administrator’s desk. They sweep in with guns drawn and ready –  
          Someone scrambles behind the desk as they storm inside, and Shepard zeroes in on the spot in a heartbeat. “Show yourself. Now!”  
          “D-don’t shoot…” a female voice pleads and very slowly a face peeks up past the desk. “Please. I’m not your enemy.” The face is teal blue, with a scattering of gray spots about the eyes. The head is crowned with a crest of stiff tentacles. Asari.  
          “Start talking, then,” Shepard says.  
          “I’m – my name is Rana Thanoptis. I’m a neurosurgeon. You’re not gonna shoot, right? By the goddess, this research isn’t worth dying over. Or worse.” Taking a deep breath, Rana sits up and holds up her hands. Watching them with wide eyes, she says, “I’m here as the scientist investigating something called… indoctrination, and its effect on cognitive reasoning.”  
          “You’re the one experimenting on people!? Live people!” Garrus spits. “We just saw what’s left of your subjects! How are you not the enemy?”  
          “Like I had any choice! This position was a little more permanent than I’d been led to believe,” Rana says. She keeps her hands open and visible, but they tremble. “You have to understand...”  
          Shepard narrows her eyes. Her gun does not lower. “What did you find? I said start talking.”  
          Rana nods, and the words spill as fast as her mouth will allow. “The purpose of indoctrination seems to be controlling will, or – at least subverting it. At the beginning, you start changing behaviors; you become more easily manipulated. You rationalize it, excuse it, but believe me – the compulsions are beyond your control. By the end, you just stop thinking for yourself – you just act. Like a puppet. That’s the trade-off. The more indoctrination, the less free will someone has, but that means they become less capable. Like… less able to adapt, and make decisions.”  
          She swallows hard. “And… as it builds up, there are symptoms. Tingling, seeing things, hearing whispers. Delusions or hallucinations. It messes with your sense of reality, just like your sense of free will.”  
          “How did Saren develop this?” Shepard says.  
          “He didn’t! He wants to use it, but… I think he’s scared he’s being influenced by it,” Rana says. “It doesn’t just… affect prisoners. Indoctrination occurs when exposed to any part of Saren’s ship. Even a piece. It’s not like a gun that you can point and shoot. It’s like… an aura. My very first test subject when I arrived? It was the man who I was replacing. Goddess, soon enough and he’d be hiring the next person to come dissect my brain!”  
          This answer is not as comforting as Shepard thought. _Saren himself could be affected? But he still wants to use it as a weapon?_ And then: _It’s coming from that ship. It always goes back to that damned ship._  
          And the thought again – that simple, unsurprising thought – that Saren has the same kind of ship as shown in her visions. _It’s a Reaper ship. This indoctrination is from the things that ended the Protheans._  
          “Here – look.” Rana stands shakily and sidesteps her way to a massive steel door behind the desk, like the opening to bank vault. She presses a numbered code into the keypad. “Go down this hallway. Saren has… he has a Prothean artifact, and – ”  
          Shepard moves so quickly towards the door that Rana flinches back, covering her face. “Get out of here.” Shepard says. “And keep running. This place is about to get blown to hell with a makeshift nuke.”  
          Rana gasps and flees the room, slamming the door behind her. Shepard barely notices as she tries to drag open the heavy steel door to the lab beyond.  
          “Y’know,” Wrex says, reaching the door and opening it with one hand. “Probably shoulda killed her. One of Saren’s people has seen the infiltration team, now.”  
          “Saren’s not one to inspire much loyalty,” Shepard says, moving past him and stalking down the hall. “He’d kill her as soon as the words ‘Commander Shepard’ leaves her mouth, and she knows it.”  
          “Eh. Guess we better hurry, in any case.”  
          The next room contains only two things – a comm panel that spans a whole wall, with a holo-platform just like the one on board the Normandy…  
          And a Prothean beacon. Like on Eden Prime, it is a metallic pillar, covered in runic circuits. Instead of a pulse, the sea green glow is sure and steady.  
          “Shepard. Are you going to activate it?” Garrus says as she approaches it.  
          “I have to. I have the Prothean meta-knowledge from Shiala. If this has information, I’m the only one who can understand it.” Taking off her helmet, she glances back to her two squadmates. “I don’t know if it will knock me out this time. But if something happens…. Just see that the mission gets done, all right?”  
          Garrus shakes his head, already moving to stand nearer to her. Wrex says, “You got it. Like it’ll be so hard to carry you off while the turian here covers our asses.”  
          Shepard nods, then closes the distance to the beacon. She reaches out her hand, the beacon flashes and brightens, and…

 

           _A mass relay – smaller than the gargantuan monoliths that float in space. It sits on one end, the tuning-fork prongs rising high above the lush garden around it. A gentle stream runs by its base._  
          Attention: Emergency message to any survivors: Situation dire. The Conduit is the key. All survivors report to Ilos.  
           _A wide courtyard, covered in the silhouettes of statues and broad trees. Slanted, blocky buildings line wide stone paths. The light that filters down has a shaded blue cast._  
          Repeat: Additional details upon arrival. All survivors report to Ilos. 

 

          …then the light fades back down to the normal state. Shepard’s outstretched hand slowly lowers, and she stares ahead at it as the vision replays as gently as her own memories. A planet she’s never seen, never heard of. She has a name, but even with the Thorian’s filter, it’s as good as out of reach. Maybe with Liara’s help she can figure this out.  
          Shifting the helmet still under her other arm, Shepard glances over her shoulder. Garrus and Wrex look back at her.  
          “What?” Wrex says. “Nothing?”  
          “Nothing happened?” Shepard asks.  
          “Nope. You held out your hand, it flashed, you looked back…”  
          “It wasn’t nothing.” Shepard says, stalking back towards then. “Either of you know a planet called Ilos?”  
          “It’s nothing I’ve heard of in Citadel space,” Garrus says.  
          “Never heard of it either,” Wrex says. “That where we’re headed?”  
          “Yep, that’s where we’re headed. The Conduit, whatever it is, is there.” She reaches them, and keeps on going. She has a name, something she can chase. It’s enough. Stealing Prothean knowledge from under Saren’s nose and then blowing up his base? It’s a good day.  
          She’s almost to the door when the comm console gives a deep, intense buzz that vibrates the whole room. Shepard drops down, looking for the source as the sound pulsates through the air, against her ears, through her chest. It undulates pitch, warping and distorting, until the pattern becomes recognizable – and it’s words that Shepard is hearing:  
           _(You are not Saren.)_  
          The holo-platform blinks to life. When the holographic image loads a second later, it’s not Saren that appears in a crisp red light. A ship – aligned vertically, with a tapered top and thick tentacle appendages that branch off the sides and reach down.  
          Saren’s starship. The Sovereign.  
          Shepard narrows her eyes and takes a step forward.  
          “What is this?” Wrex mutters, from behind Shepard. “Some kind of VI?”  
           _(Rudimentary creatures of flesh blood. You touch my mind, fumbling for ignorance, incapable of understanding.)_  
          “This… isn’t a VI,” Garrus says, and even Shepard can hear the ragged tone of his subvocals.  
           _(There is a realm so far beyond your own existence you cannot even imagine it. I am beyond your comprehension, as I was beyond the comprehension of those who came before. I am Sovereign.)_  
          The geth fable of a race of machines that wiped out the Protheans. Synthetic life, which could inhabit different platforms like a human changing clothes. The physical bodies they controlled didn’t have to follow the same logic as an organic creature. A platform could be small like a geth body… or large like…  
          “A starship. Saren didn’t have a Reaper ship,” Shepard says, not to any person but simply to hear a voice say the words. “The ship is the Reaper.”  
           _(Reaper.)_ The deep, vibrato noise repeats her word. _(‘That which harvests’. The name that the Protheans gave to their inevitable destruction. In the end, what we are called is irrelevant. We simply are.)_  
          “The Protheans were the most advanced civilization that we even know of,” Garrus says. “How can something wipe them out so easily?”  
           _(Organic life in every form is simply a chaotic accident. Your lives are measured in years. You wither and die. We are eternal. We are the pinnacle of not just evolution but existence. Before us, the Protheans were nothing. You are nothing. We are the end of everything.)_  
          It’s some sort of trick – some sort of mindgame set up by Saren. But every other wayward piece that Shepard’s picked up so far – a dark, tapered ship, a bone-shaking noise, a geth fable, a group of salarians babbling in the dark – it fits into an ugly place.  
          Matriarch Benezia, and the mercenaries from Wrex’s story.  
          A vision of war from the losing side.  
          “We’ll stop you,” Shepard spits suddenly, taking another step forward. She still has her helmet in her hands, and she doesn’t bother to hold back the snarl on her face. What Garrus said stings; the Protheans had technology beyond what any race even dreamt of. But she tells herself – _An entire galaxy of people, with all our different militaries, our cultures, our strengths._ That counts for something. It has to. “You’re up against – against everyone. You can’t take down the whole galaxy.”  
           _(Confidence born of ignorance. The harvest cannot be stopped. The cycle cannot be broken. The pattern has repeated more times than you can even fathom. Civilizations rise, flourish, and at the apex of their glory, extinguished. The Protheans were not the first. They were not the greatest. Like those before them, they found the Citadel, found the mass relays; miracles left by my kind.)_  
          Shepard’s stomach drops so hard it burns.  
           _No. No no oh fuck no._ The memory is clear as day – back on the Citadel, with her marines – explaining the history of the capital to Ash. Explaining that the impenetrable space station had been created by the Protheans, just like the mass relays. Explaining that the asari had discovered it and established it as the functional heart of the galaxy. Facts that were well-known. Facts that were absolute.  
          She struggles against it, even as she sees the simple truth.  
          An entire galaxy’s worth of bait, happily swallowed.  
          “We found the ruins of a civilization and built ours on top of it.” Shepard says, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. “We never questioned it. Why… why would we?”  
           _(You are controlled. The relays are the basis of galactic transportation. The Citadel is located at the center of the relay network. Organic life develops upon paths the Reapers desire. Order upon chaos. You have progressed because we allow it. You will end because we demand it.)_  
          “Everything we’ve built society on,” Garrus begins. “Everything. It was all in preparation for this… this cycle?!”  
          “Why?” Wrex says. His voice is slow, quiet. “All this work, for what? Slaves? Resources?”  
           _(We are each a nation, free of weakness. My kind transcends your very understanding. You cannot grasp our reasons.)_  
          “You’re not organic. So you’re synthetic. Somebody built you,” Shepard says.  
           _(We have no beginning and no end. Long after your harvest is complete, we will remain.)_  
           _Asshole didn’t answer our questions,_ Shepard thinks wildly. But in every response, it kept using that plural pronoun – _or is it like a ‘royal we’ kind of thing? Get more information. Above all, know your enemy._ “There are more of you? Or are you the only one?”  
           _(I am never one. But know that the Reapers are legion. Your newfound, scrabbling knowledge cannot halt a cycle that has already begun. When we arrive, our numbers will darken the skies of every world. None will escape this fate.)_  
          A cycle that has already begun – it’s a slow, sick feeling. Had it started back on Eden Prime, amid the bodies of human colonists and Nihlus Kryik? Or did it go back even further, bearing down on them while she and everyone else carried on unaware?  
           _No._  
          “Sounds like it’s just you right now, though.” Shepard grits her jaw and glares down the hologram. The ship, for its part, does not react. “You’re just a machine. Machines can be broken.”  
           _(A threat as empty as your future. I am only the vanguard of your destruction. You will see.)_  
          The entire room shakes as the whirlwind screech of a sonic boom crashes from outside, drowning out the sound of shattering glass. Shepard dives for the ground, slamming the helmet back over her head and locking it to the hardsuit.  
          “Commander, we’ve got trouble,” Joker pipes through the comm, speaking rapidly. “That ship of Saren’s just dropped out of nowhere. It’s pulling maneuvers that should be breaking it apart – let alone blacking out anybody on board.”  
          She’s already staggering back to the front office, where Rana Thanoptis had attempted to hide. Every window now lies in a sea of shards over the floor.  
          “Joker. What’s it’s location?”  
          “Don’t know, ma’am. It took off to the north and went back into upper atmo. I… don’t think it pinged me – thank you, stealth. Currently waiting for the detonation site to be cleared.”  
          “Orders?’ Garrus says sharply.  
          “We keep going. We have to set the bomb and blow this place.” Even as she speaks she wonders – is this a suicide mission? If Saren’s ship really is a sentient super-machine bent on galactic genocide, the mission seems a bit trifling, considered. But then she remembers – Ganto Imness in his cell, Shiala beneath the corpse of the Thorian, and Lady Benezia in Liara’s arms.  
          Indoctrination.  
           _This place has to go._  
          Out another doorway, back outside, across a concrete yard – this side of the facility is built against the cliff, with grated pathways that crisscross down to lower levels. From this height, she can see, several levels down – a wide concrete channel with high walls and shallow water. The sluice. Just the sight of it sets her pulse impossibly fast.  
          The ramps are dotted with pale, graceful machines – the geth. Down in the sluice channel itself, an enormous red geth stands in the water, facing away from the facility to look out over the cliff.  
           _Secure the bombsite. That’s why you came._  
          She throws out hand signals, ordering her squad against the small geth that patrol the walkways down. She removes and primes a tech grenade, throwing it at the red geth several stories below them.  
          The explosive detonates against the large geth, and it turns in an angry static chatter. Several of its red plating is blown off, revealing the sinewy construct underneath – almost like gray flesh. The geth on the paths are mowed down by Wrex and Garrus, revealing that same ruthless efficiency displayed on the Citadel, when they’d fought together so long ago.  
          The red geth aims the rocket launcher – at that size, the weapon’s an artillery piece all its own. Shepard ducks and raises her arms over her head as she takes cover behind a concrete support. The kinetic shield of her suit buzzes harshly as it activates, dispelling the blast of the missile.  
          Shepard straightens, readying her next grenade. In a quick flash of movement, Garrus is beside her, priming his sniper rifle from the other side of the column.  
          For his part, Wrex charges down the ramps, firing his shotgun as fast as he can reload the thermal clips. Halfway down he raises his hand toward the huge geth. Even as Shepard lines up the arc of her grenade, she sees the hazy blue-white storm whipping around their enormous target. The biotic warp field lashes away more of the tall geth’s protective red plating.  
          The grenade blast catches the stripped geth just as a sniper shot catches it in an exposed shoulder, just below the launcher. Beside her, Garrus makes a little noise of satisfaction and begins reloading.  
          The geth turns its body towards Wrex. A billow of exhaust plumes as the next rocket begins to leave the chamber. As the missle shoots forward it seems to stall, then it is flung back in Wrex’s biotic throw. It hits the giant geth square in the chest.  
          Shepard and Garrus again have to duck against the blast, but neither of them waste any time in straightening past their cover and surveying the state of the enemy –  
          Wrex reaches the motionless geth, blasting it once more with his shotgun. His armor is splashed with blood – his own, red like a human’s – and there is a burned spot across the leathery skin of his face that is healing even as Shepard and Garrus approach.  
          Satisfied, he turns to them and nods. “Knew those things would be a good fight.”  
          “Thanks, Wrex.” Shepard nods, glancing at the machine corpse laying in the water of the sluice. She doesn’t have to state the obvious: _He basically killed that thing on his own. We just helped…_  
          “No problem. Thanks for keeping me around,” Wrex answers.  
          The low raspy screech of a starship engine announces the Normandy’s arrival, kicking up spray from the sluice as it lowers. The channel is just barely wide enough for the ship, but Joker lands the Normandy without a scratch.  
          “Special delivery, Commander,” he says over her comm. “One salarian-made drive-core nuke.”  
          In the distance, another explosion sounds. Shepard glances over her shoulder. At least the distraction teams are still working. The focused inertia carrying her along starts to congeal into anxiety. Sovereign is sentient, like a geth – not to mention the huge red geth they’ve openly attacked, which existed linked to its comrades. The enemy has to know they are here.  
          The Normandy’s bay doors open and the small team Kirrahe left to monitor the bomb slowly guide it out. With them is Ashley, who throws Shepard a blunt look before turning back to the bomb. Her assault rifle is held pointedly in both hands, the muzzle directed toward the ground. Neither woman says anything.  
          “Commander.” One of Kirrahe’s men approaches. “The bomb is ready.”  
          Another explosion roars out somewhere in the distance. Her comm gurgles static for a second, then –  
          “Commander. We have a problem.” Kaidan’s voice is strained.  
          Shepard’s insides do a quick twist back and forth. “I’m here.”  
          “We’re pinned down in the control room – one of the AA towers. The geth have some impressive backup here – big and red, with rocket launchers. It’s been one of those days.”  
           _Pinned down._ “You can’t make your rendezvous site?”  
          “That’s… a negative, ma’am.”  
          “Commander Shepard,” Kirrahe says calmly through the comm channel. “We are at our pickup site. Is the Normandy ready?”  
          “Yeah,” Shepard says. Leaving her channel open, she patches in Joker. “Moreau. Head to the first two pickup sites and get the salarian teams. I’m heading to Alenko to help him out. That position is the new third pickup spot – “  
          Shepard’s HUD loads the location given by Kaidan’s hardsuit – and her heart sinks. It’s practically on the other side of the facility, opposite the side they arrived from. But the mission has gone to plan so far, and anyways – Alenko and his team are pinned down, so there’s nothing left to do but go.  
          As she and her team walk through the ankle-deep water, to the other side of the sluice, Shepard glances back to Ashley. “Williams –”  
          “Stay here and watch the bomb. Guard duty. I got it.”  
          The words are blunt. “That’s right. See you in a bit, Ash.”  
          Shepard and her crew make their way up the stairways that lead to the upper levels above the sluice channel, leading to a walkway above a drainage gate and back into an open concrete yard. Buildings and connections loom above them. At the far edge, the AA towers are visible. Kaidan is in one of those…  
          “Normandy reporting. First site pickup complete. Heading to site two.” Joker says over the comm.  
          Shepard and her crew stride across a catwalk, between rows of giant tanks. A heavy mechanical sound hums out as they pass. The research buildings are getting closer – soon they’ll be back inside, and it will be another maze run through the facility to reach the AA towers.  
          “Alenko. Holding up?”  
          “Holding up. Normally I’d say we were in trouble, but we’ve got an N7 on the way.”  
          Shepard smiles. “You got it, Lieutenant. Help’s coming.”  
          “Commander. Currently picking up the team from site two,” Joker says. “Lieutenant Alenko’s position is the new site three?”  
          “Correct, Joker. After that we’ll head back to the detonation site and get the bomb crew –”  
          A geth ship screams overhead. Heading past them.  
          Towards the sluice.  
          “Shit,” Wrex says.  
          Shepard lurches to a halt, watching it slow. Watching it lower. “Williams – what’s your status?!”  
          Geth drop out, one wave after another.  
          On the comm, Ashley screams.  
          There’s a flurry of shouting over the comm, from Kirrahe and Kaidan and Shepard herself, until Ashley finally shouts above the din: “Commander Shepard, Captain Kirrahe. Multiple squads of hostiles at the site.” Her connection clips off, then connects again, sending sounds of assault rifle chatter and the quick snap of STG Scorpion pistols. “Bomb site has been compromised.”  
          “Ash! Can you hold them off?”  
          “I-I think I can. I mean, I can hold them off long enough.” There’s muffled talking, a salarian saying something at breakneck speed. Ashley’s voice is hard as she answers him: “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”  
          “Chief Williams, protection of the bomb is paramount!” Kirrahe says. “It must not be damaged before it can detonate!”  
          “I know – I know!” Ashley practically shouts. “One of the STG… just activated the bomb. I can hold them off until it blows. Go to the last site and get out of here!”  
          “No.” Kaidan practically snarls the word over the comm. “Kirrahe is right. Protecting the bomb is what matters.”  
          “Alenko, I can do this! I’m not gonna fuck up!”  
          “It’s not about _you_ , Ashley!” he shouts back. “The third team is too far out for an extraction – the Normandy might not even make it if it comes here. And even if it could, we can’t risk that thing getting disarmed just to save _one squad!_ ”  
           _Even now, in this moment, they’re arguing._ The instant thickens around her as the mission parameters rearrange in her mind – with the countdown ticking, they don’t have enough time to reach both sites. The AA towers still loom in the distance, past the actual perimeter of the facility. The sounds of a firefight broadcasts over Ashley’s comm. And her soldier training, officer training, N7 training – has already evaluated the plan.  
          And now it’s her command to give.  
          “Moreau. Pickup three is the bomb site. Meet there for final extraction.” Without looking at Wrex or Garrus, she pulls an about face and begins sprinting back the way they came.  
          “Aye aye.” Joker's voice is harsh, ragged.  
          “ _What?!_ ” Ashley screams the word. “No! Go to the last site and get Kaidan! I’m not going to let you guys down! How could you fucking -?!”  
          “It’s the right decision, Ash.” Kaidan says the words that Shepard can’t. “And you know it. It’s like Shepard said back at camp, remember? You’re at the heart of the mission.”  
          “No. No no no no…” Past Ashley’s tearful voice, the chatter of gunfire is unmistakable. “Fuck you, fuck you both, I’m not worth it, I’m not – ”  
          “Kaidan,” Shepard finally speaks as she makes her way back. “I’m sorry.”  
          “Don’t apologize, Commander. I understand completely.” He gives that little laugh, and in her mind Shepard can see that boyish grin, the good-natured exasperation. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret a damn thing. Messed up kid like I was? I never would’ve dreamed of the life I’ve had. It’s been an honor to serve with everyone – serve with you.”  
          “Same to you, Kaidan. I promise – I won’t – ”  
          “You’ve done a spectacular job, Shepard.”  
          The voice cuts over the shared comm with a hard snap. The voice is two toned – _a turian_. And it’s one she’s heard before.  
          “Saren.” Shepard’s stomach twists so hard it burns. She staggers for a step, then forces herself to keep going, to go faster.  
          “I never would have guessed that there were more threats then the STG. But whatever it is you’re planning, now I’m going to have to end it. You have no idea what is at stake.”  
          Now the mission crystalizes to one single goal: the bomb site. Saren is heading there, and there’s no way Ashley can fend off a Spectre. _And Saren was the Council’s best._  
          “I think I having a pretty good fucking clue,” Shepard spits back at him. “But why don’t you explain it to me then?”  
          “You’ve seen the visions! They cannot be stopped! You will sacrifice everything for what? Petty freedom?” The fervor is barely contained as he sneers over the comm. “The Protheans themselves tried, and they were annihilated. What if they had bowed before their invaders? Is submission not preferable to extinction?”  
          The open space of the concrete yard spurs Shepard to run even harder. That reasoning – after speaking with Sovereign, receiving the visions – she fights back the laughter. “You... You don’t actually think they’re gonna let us live?”  
          “If we make ourselves useful, we will be spared. The geth believe Sovereign is a god. It is actually insulted – but it uses them. We must follow their example.”  
          “But you know about the Conduit. You know how to stop them!” Now the edge of the yard is in sight, where the catwalk leads down to the stairs, down to the sluice. Shepard can hear the gunfire. _I don’t think he’s reached the site yet._  
          “Yes. The Conduit is the key. Sovereign needs my help to reach it. He needs my mind to remain my own for me to remain useful. I am not indoctrinated!”  
          “You’re nothing but indoctrinated,” Shepard says, double timing down the stairs and throwing a quick glance over the sluice channel. Salarians lie motionless, surrounded by clouds of yellowish blood in the water. Geth corpses are everywhere – and some remain, firing down the defense team. Ashley and a few STG members remain under cover of the half-open gates that intersect the sluice. _No turian in sight._ “I think you already know it.”  
          As they fly down the rampways, Shepard unholsters the pistol and uses her high-ground position to help pick off the last of the geth. Wrex and Garrus follow suit, and they reach the ground level of the channel with guns drawn and ready.  
          “Ashley?” Shepard calls, staggering to a halt to check the vitals of a motionless salarian. Dead. A quick motion whips past her as Garrus sprints with that predator speed, further down the channel towards the bomb and remaining defense team. Shepard stands to follow her squad and mount the defense.  
          “Sovereign is nothing but a machine, Shepard. It works like a machine. If we prove our worth, we will survive. This is the only conclusion!”  
          A shadow passes behind her, almost too fast to register. _Wrex?_ She turns, and –  
          A hand wraps around her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. Only the ribbed polymer of the neck armor keeps her throat just barely open, and she can feel the point of talons pressing through.  
          She raises both hands to scrabble against the arm slowly crushing her throat. _Turian. Apex predators for a reason._ The arm doesn’t budge. The pressure doesn’t ease.  
          But then past the frenzy her brain finally register what she really sees, and –  
          The sharp, bird-of-prey eyes are glassy, and burn with an unnerving blue light. The scaly dermal plates look more like metal pieces arranged like a jigsaw puzzle. The outer mandible is lined with sections of exposed wires. He wears a garb used by more conservative turians, a body cloak and cowl that is supposed to reveal only the face. But it is ragged and ripped away in places, revealing the heavy wires and cables, entire glowing circuits that cover his body…  
          The sight of it, fully processed, sends a lightning strike of panic. Shepard struggles against him even more, gasping for breath that is hard coming. All the while, those blue bulb-eyes never break his gaze, watching her suffocate. _Wrex told me he looked strange. Rana said he’s afraid. Oh fuck he’s like a husk – indoctrinated – from the Reapers –_  
          An airy engine screech roars as the Normandy comes screaming over them, fast and low. Saren flinches, looks up, and Shepard takes the chance to lunge forward and punches him as hard as she can, aiming for the plates just below his eyes. Despite the synthetic conversion, he snarls in pain and staggers back. His grip on her throat does not ease.  
           _“Korbal!”_ The guttural roar rises behind her, and Wrex comes flying forward, headbutting Saren with the full force of a krogan tackle. In one swift move he grabs Shepard, throwing her half over the wide hump of his back, and charges back down the sluice towards the bomb.  
          “Wrex – we have to defend – the bomb – “ The words rasp painfully out of her throat, even as she gulps down the air like a drowning woman. “We can’t – ”  
          The deep, baritone noise knifes through them, rattling Shepard’s insides and teeth, the very brain in her skull – and the shadow that falls over them this time is cast by a dark ship, hovering in the air. Black, tapered, with long jointed appendages that unfurl down, whipping up gales like a hurricane.  
          The fear response provoked by the noise hits Shepard like a brick, and she fights like hell to keep control. For his part, Wrex’s breakneck pace never falters as he bolts towards where the Normandy awaits.  
          A thin geth glider descends for Saren to board, and afterwards raises and heads straight for the Reaper. Thrown over Wrex’s shoulder, Shepard watches him go, feeling disgust and hatred in equal parts. At least he retreats, hopefully allowing them enough time to clear the blast as well.  
           _Except for Kaidan –_  
          The Normandy is already lifting off as Wrex reaches the ramp, jumping up and charging into the main cargo bay. She’s unceremoniously lifted up and placed on the floor in heap. The few surviving salarians on the bomb team are already boarded, and Garrus kneels by Ashley, helping her remove her helmet. The cargo bay ramp locks closed with a heavy bang, sealing out the light.  
          The slow pull of the ship lifting off grows to an intense drag, wrenching Shepard to the floor as the acceleration climbs. This low in the Normandy, the engine scream is almost deafening.  
          Shepard doesn’t fight it. Lying on the ground, with only the view through her helmet, she closes her eyes. The air burns through her half-crushed throat with every breath. The bomb had been meant to start countdown right before liftoff. Did that give them any extra time at all?  
          Around her, the whole ship seems to screech and vibrate. It intensifies, to the point that the Normandy feels as though it’s being shaken apart. Shepard wonders if it’s the blast of the bomb, right at their heels. Any second now, the explosion could overtake the Normandy’s kinetic barrier, engulf the ship…  
          The tremors become violent, and just when Shepard is sure that the barriers are due to fail – The ship stills almost peacefully, and the weightless feeling lasts only a moment before the mass effect fields kick in to simulate gravity.  
          The HUD of her helmet lists data across the feed, displaying the status of the Normandy. Fuel levels, shield state, engine output. Outside sensors display the last available readings from the planet – levels of heat, force, light, all that go beyond instrument levels.  
           _We made it._ Shepard staggers to her feet, yanking off her helmet and dropping it. Her gaze remains on the floor. The mission had fallen apart, but against all odds they had carried it out.  
          Despite the price, they had carried it out.  
           _I just wanted all of us to come back. Fulfill the mission and then come home._ Then, the next thought; _Best-case is ruined when your boots hit the ground._  
          “How could you?!” Shepard is hit by a whirlwind, hands grabbing the seams of her hardsuit at the collarbone and shaking her. “How could you just leave him down there?!”  
          Shepard reaches up and puts both hands over Ashley’s, but doesn’t fight back. “I had to choose, Williams.”  
          “You should have chosen him!” The shaking doesn’t stop. “He’s a superior officer, a biotic, he was your lieutenant! He should have lived! You should’ve chosen him, and you know it! Everyone knows it!”  
          “Williams.” Shepard steadies herself against the movement but doesn’t pull away. “That’s what I chose. He knew the risks, just like you. Just like all of us. If you have to blame anyone, blame Saren. Blame me.”  
          The shaking stops, and suddenly the two of them are deathly still. Ashley only stares back, her brown eyes wide and full of tears. One leaves a wet track against her dark-olive face.  
          The clatter of footsteps sounds from the stairs behind the freight elevator, and Liara and Tali appear. They hesitate only a second before rushing over. The intrusion breaks Ashley from her spell, and she releases Shepard and steps away, shaking her head almost pleadingly.  
          “Commander! Ash! We – we heard what happened…” Liara begins, swallowing heavily.  
          Tali stands beside her, wringing her hands in a fast frantic motion. “We… were so worried, and when we heard that –” She halts, and the silence stretches on.  
          Taking a deep breath, Liara looks pointedly to Shepard. “The beacon you found, in Saren’s private office. It had the location of the Conduit.”  
          It’s not a question. They must have been listening in on the comms, or like as much. Shepard forces the words past her burning throat. “Liara. What do you know of a planet called Ilos?”  
          Liara’s eyes widen, and she does not speak. After a heavy moment, she says almost timidly, “Commander, that is not a name that is known to me.”  
          Shepard closes her eyes. If the Prothean researcher doesn’t know, Shepard is out of easy solutions. But now the only solutions she can afford are the easy ones…  
          “Commander. If I may.”  
          Shepard opens her eyes.  
          Liara raises her hand, almost gingerly, as if to touch Shepard’s face. “I can… take the information of the vision – with my biotic power, I mean. I can… er… review it, firsthand. There may be some detail that you are missing…”  
          “Fine.” Shepard takes a step towards her. “Let’s do it.”  
          “I – I must ask that you do not resist the mental interaction,” Liara begins, flinching her hand back. “Humans do so instinctively – so I have heard – and I am not well-practiced in the ability to transfer mental information, so I must be careful not to – ”  
          “Liara.” Shepard keeps her voice as patient as she is able. “Do it.”  
          Nodding, Liara reached forward and gently rests her hand against Shepard’s temple. “We are… all connected, Commander. We are each like cells in a body, or… drops of water in the flood….”  
          Then it happens – that shift, like someone took the world and blurred it, tilted it by just a few degrees. And when it focuses again, Liara’s eyes – look black…  
          “E-Embrace eternity, Shepard.”  
          The room is filling up with liquid, and she can only tread water until she drowns. She’s hanging off a cliff side, and she can feel her fingertips slipping. It’s the freefall of a dead starship, screaming to the ground. _It’s watching a bomb count down, and just waiting for the end…_

 

          Emergency message to all survivors –  
          Harvest in progress –  
           _A mountain of corpses._  
          DO NOT ANSWER –  
           _A flash, a skip._  
           _The image breaks down. The image reforms, breaks, reforms again. It stutters, fights to stay._  
           _A mass relay – smaller than the gargantuan monoliths that float in space. It sits on one end, the tuning-fork prongs rising high above the lush garden around it. A gentle stream runs by its base._  
          Attention: Emergency message to any survivors: Situation dire. The Conduit is the key. All survivors report to Ilos.  
           _A wide courtyard, covered in the silhouettes of statues and broad trees. Slanted, blocky buildings line wide stone paths. The light that filters down has a shaded blue cast._  
          Repeat: Additional details upon arrival. All survivors report to Ilos. 

 

          Shepard gasps and staggers back, tripping on her own feet. Before she can crash to the ground, she’s caught under both arms and awkwardly held up.  
          “Dammit – what?” She climbs back to her feet, pulling away and turning.  
          “I was afraid that would happen,” Garrus says calmly, stepping away. “Just like last time you had a mind-meld. Are you all right?”  
          “I – uh… Yeah.” That amount of contact is indecent for a turian in any situation, but – _He just kept you from landing on your ass. Don’t make such a big deal out of it – he caught you last time too, right?_ “Thanks. Again, I mean.”  
          “Please please please.” Tali says, putting her arm around on Liara’s shoulders. “Can we please stop doing the mind meld with humans or Shepard or whatever it is because it is very taxing for Shepard and now even Liara is affected and we can’t afford to –”  
          “It is fine.” Liara straightens her body, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I did say that I was inexperienced in the skill. But I have the information that I need.”  
          Suddenly everyone in the bay is focused on Liara, tense and waiting. Noticing the attention, she only looks to Shepard and nods. “The vision is a place that is well-known to any Prothean researcher. Many archives of Prothean information – including the archive found on your system’s fourth planet, Commander – describe it in detail and contain images of it. They always speak of a research facility, and the name Ishan. We know the location of its planet within the system, and we know that its system contains a relay, but other than that? We know nothing. Not even a name.”  
          “That’s Ilos.” Shepard says.  
          “I believe that is correct,” Liara says. “We have never been able to find a planetary system that matches the specifications given. But now…”  
          “We try the system we find through the Mu relay. Ilos will be waiting at the door.” The feeling is intense – fervent, impatient. Having something to focus on is a relief. Something to distract from the memory of a handsome soldier standing amid tall, amphibious aliens.  
          “So… we can go right now. We can finish this,” Wrex says calmly.  
          “The Mu relay is located well within Terminus space,” Liara says, sounding tired. “We would do well to be cautious.”  
          “And who knows what Saren has waiting for us?” Tali says. “He might have a whole army of geth!”  
          “So we’re going to get reinforcements from the Citadel? Is that even possible?” Ashley asks hoarsely.  
          “We can do none of that right now,” Shepard says, forcing down her own ardent need to chase. Impatience makes things messy. Impatience gets people – more people – killed. The thought leaves a cannonball hole in her middle. “Last fuel readings upon takeoff were not good. We have to stop by a depot no matter what we do – we can’t even make it back to the Citadel at this point.”  
          The look around the bay is unhappy; regardless of opinion, stopping at an automated fuel depot is last on everyone’s priority. No one replies, and it feels as though Shepard should be saying something – some kind of debriefing or plan – or perhaps address the fact that she just left a man behind to die – but nothing besides concrete fact seems to be getting through her mind.  
          So she only says: “Dismissed.”  
          They seem to understand the unsaid message, and her group as a whole – minus a single member – a single, vital member – slowly passes her as they make their way towards the freight elevator, towards the stairs.  
          Shepard watches them go, until it’s just her alone in the cargo bay. She stands amid the open space, staring blankly.  
          The Mako military vehicle sits in the corner, covered by a tarp. _Ashley hid behind it, watching mail. Her sister said Kaidan was cute, told Ashley to make a move._  
          Her harduit helmet sits at her feet – black with a red stripe across the top, denoting an Alliance commander. _Not the solid black of standard soldiers – even Staff Lieutenants._  
          Next to the weapons bench is the double-row of lockers – one for every crew member: combat and staff, human and alien. _One of those lockers says Alenko on it. Someone’s going to have to clean it out eventually._  
          The cannonball hole grows, threatens to collapse her midsection and send her crumpled to the ground. Shepard sways. Back the salarian camp, she had spoken the truth, and he thanked her for it. _He also has experience leading small teams in heavy-fire combat zones, and he’s never lost a man._  
           _Never lost a man._  
          The same could have been said for Shepard, up until – not even an hour ago. Such a short amount of time.  
          Shepard has already forgotten what it feels like.


	17. Appeal to the Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The holidays are kicking my ass, but I am back!)
> 
> \- I cut back the Terra Firma protest; none of the in-game responses were particularly appealing, even with Ash and Garrus. The scene kept getting too long and messing with the pacing, so I rewrote it as it is. 
> 
> \- So the Council has one line about a blockade at the mass relay and then no one mentions that they were lying yet again. I ran with it a little bit; it added a nice bit of world building. 
> 
> \- I've been planning on adding the backstory from Joker's comic, and I loved writing every word.

          The darkened ceiling of Shepard’s quarters looks the same no matter how long she stares. She lies on her back, arms crossed over her stomach. Nothing changes, but she still can’t look away.  
          The gentle click in her ear signifies the opened comm, and after the sound of a quick, shuddery breath, she hears Joker’s voice on the other line.  
          “Commander. Um. We just got within tightbeam range of some official comm buoys. We are, uh. Getting a patch request from the Council.”  
          Absently Shepard wonders how long she’s been lying here, on the bed. The clock on her desk says a couple hours. She can’t seem to remember the time passing properly.  
          But she answers. “Thanks, Joker. I got it.”  
          It’s a fight to sit up and get to her feet, but nothing drives a soldier if not duty. She passes her tiny private bathroom on the way out, and catches her reflection in the mirror – the red-purple marks on her neck will be ugly bruises in a few days.  
          Still. It could have been worse.  
          She passes through the Normandy to the comm room. Without really thinking she enters in the security codes to summon the Council. She waits at the holo-platform, head bowed.  
          The three Councilors appear to her above the comm panel, in their crisp blue-hued holograms. For a long moment no one speaks. Shepard forces herself to remember their names. Tevos. Valern. Sparatus. Arguably the three most powerful people in the galaxy.  
          “Thank you for solving our Virmire problem,” the asari – Tevos – says, primly folding her hands.  
          “With an army of krogan, Saren would have been unstoppable,” Sparatus complains, as close to gratitude as he will give.  
          “The facility wasn’t able to create an army of krogan,” Shepard says, in that hoarse voice. Out of her hardsuit, the marks on her neck should be fully visible to them. Those bruises are just another reminder of the damage Saren has done. Their Spectre. “They were never a threat. The Reapers are.”  
          “Ah… yes,” Valern says, blinking. “We read your report. It would be deeply troubling…. If it is fully accurate.”  
          “Must we still discuss this? Saren is manipulating you,” Sparatus says acidly. “You jump at shadows. You chase after stories while he hides his true plans. There’s no reason to –”  
          “I mention the Reapers in every report I send!” Shepard snaps back. The anger pushes through the icy grief. “I find signs of them everywhere I look for Saren. I report all of them back, straight to you three. And yet I get dismissed – ignored! What will it take for you to believe me?”  
          “Shepard,” Tevos says sharply, leaning forward and furrowing her brow. “The only one who ever finds evidence is you, and you alone. Saren has always revealed himself to be the true threat.”  
          “This is the whole reason Spectres are appointed,” says Valern, raising his hands in appeasing motions. “If you find a problem, it is yours to deal with.”  
          The asari’s face doesn’t soften – Shepard’s outburst has not been forgiven. “We wish you luck, Shepard.”  
          The holograms blink out.  
          Shepard sighs heavily, feeling the weight settle back down upon her. Not even the life of an Alliance soldier – the life of her lieutenant – was enough to sway their trust. At this point, there may be nothing to fully convince them. And if they truly don’t believe her, what does that mean for her mission?  
          Now that the meeting is over, something is missing. Shepard looks up the ceiling of the room almost absentmindedly, and then realizes – no post-Council quips from Joker this time. She could just leave the silence and be done with it… but now she’s reminded, and so she opens her personal comm and patches through to him.  
“Joker?”  
          “Ma’am. How’d the meeting go?” His voice is flat.  
          “Disaster. I think I actually pissed them off this time.” There’s no answer. With a calm she doesn’t feel, she gently asks, “Joker? You okay?”  
          “Yeah, I… Well, I actually…. It’s just…” he sighs. “About what happened? I know it wasn’t easy, Commander. And I know that putting it that way is an understatement. That decision…”  
          Shepard’s middle gets that hollow ache again, but she keeps the comm open. He’s allowed to grieve too. She can’t make those decisions and then get upset when her people react – especially the non-combat crew like Joker.  
          “I’m – I’m not blaming you. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking that…” he finally says. The words are ragged. “I just don’t know if I could do it.”  
          Shepard’s heart breaks. “I hope you never have to, Moreau.”  
          “Yeah. Me too. But I won’t let you down. You’re gonna be the one to make that sonuvabitch pay.” He takes a breath. “I’ll be okay, Commander. I just need some time.”  
          “Right. Take all the time you need.” She clicks off the comm, takes a deep breath of her own, and exits the room.  
          She turns down a hallway and down the stairs to the mess deck. May as well try to force down some food, and mull over her next move. Caution whispers to go back to the Citadel – maybe the Council won’t listen, but after the loss of a soldier, she probably has the Alliance’s attention.  
          As she passes the med bay, she notices a glance of blue through the window. Backtracking a couple steps, Shepard opens the door and peers inside.  
          Chakwas is nowhere to be seen, but Liara sits in the closest patient bed, reading something on a datapad. She looks up as Shepard enters, setting it down.  
          “Oh! Commander!”  
          “Liara?” Shepard studies the other woman. “Are… you okay?”  
          Dark purple blush spreads across Liara’s cheeks. “I was… feeling a bit unwell after we performed the mind-meld. I came here to request a quiet place to lie down, but… Doctor Chakwas’ knowledge of asari physiology is nothing short of remarkable. With her aid and some rest, I am feeling much better.”  
          Shepard can’t help the smile. “Chakwas is the best in the Alliance. Hell, she’s probably the best human doctor practicing right now. You don’t have to worry with her on board.”  
          Liara returns the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It is a comfort. As… as I said, I am very inexperienced with transference between two nervous systems,” she says. “I intended to take the whole vision, but I was unable. Not without causing a great amount of pain – for us both.”  
          Shepard frowns. “I’m… sorry to hear that. It would’ve probably been better off with you, anyways.”  
          Liara shrugs, looking down at her own hands, folded in her lap. “It’s a… small matter, in the current perspective. A vision of the Protheans, as they were losing the war – even what little I saw was horrifying.”  
           _At least it’s not trying to kill me anymore,_ Shepard thinks, and then instantly regrets it. “It definitely shows what we’re up against,” she says instead.  
          “Yes. And I must admit, I have been wondering…” Liara looks back up. “About Saren’s indoctrination. How did it happen? What were his real motivations? Was he like Mother – trying to do good, and then twisted?” She halts again. “These lines of thinking have actually begun to make me feel sorry for him.”  
          Shepard remembers standing in a concrete yard, watching a geth ship. She remembers hearing her squad argue over who should live and die. And she remembers glassy, bulb eyes and glowing circuits covering a turian body. Liara is speaking as a civilian; someone who wasn’t there, but it doesn’t sway Shepard’s raw feelings.  
          “Whatever reasons he had,” she begins, picking through her words very carefully, “have been swallowed up by the indoctrination. It doesn’t really matter. It’s not like we can change his mind or understand where he’s coming from. We just have to stop him.”  
          “Of – of course.” Liara looks away, and Shepard wonders if she didn’t hide the edge in her own voice so well.  
          “In any case – ” Shepard clears her throat. “Thanks for the help with the vision. We finally have our destination, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”  
          The blush returns to Liara’s face again. “I am glad to help, Commander. I only hope I can continue to assist you in the future.”  
          Before Shepard can answer, her comm clicks open again.  
          “Ma’am. Getting another meeting request,” Joker says.  
          “The Council?” Shepard straightens. There’s never been a follow-up scolding before. _Did I piss them off that badly?_ Liara watches her intently.  
          “No ma’am. Ambassador Udina.”  
          Shepard blinks. The last time she saw Ambassador Udina, the last she’d spoken with him – he’d been walking away, after announcing to her that Anderson had resigned command of the Normandy. Back on the Citadel; before Luna, before Benezia, before Cerberus, _before Virmire…_  
          “Ah, yeah,” Joker says in response to her silence. “Weird, right? He just… requested a meeting. I don’t know anything else.”  
          “It’s fine, Joker.” Nodding to Liara, Shepard rises and moves back out of the med bay. _This is about Kaidan. It has to be. It’s the only thing that’s changed…_  
          She doesn’t know if it’s good news or not.  
          She reaches the comm room and opens the secure channel. She tenses, ready for the shouting –  
          The room stays dark as Udina clears his throat, revealing his line has connected. Shepard watches the blank holo-platform, pursing her lips. Nothing loads. Udina seems like the kind of person to use a hologram every chance he could.  
          “Commander Shepard,” Udina begins rigidly. “You are to return to the Citadel.”  
          “Sir?” Calm, stiff Udina adds to the strangeness of this meeting. _Did something happen?_ Then she thinks – _Kaidan?_ “What is this about?”  
          “Report to the Citadel Tower when you arrive. In light of your latest report, we are preparing a fleet of ships to hunt down Saren Arterius.”  
          For more than a few moments, Shepard doubts her own sanity, but then the misgivings fall away in one fell swoop. The hollow ache doesn’t quite fill – Shepard is still wounded, but back on the hunt. A fleet of Alliance ships is exactly the tribute Kaidan deserves. “Acknowledged, sir. We’ll be there ASAP.”  
          Udina cuts the comm without replying.  
          Shepard’s already back on comm to Joker. “Moreau. Once we reach that depot take a straight route back to the Citadel. They’ve got the reinforcements for us, and I want the Normandy to be at the head of that fleet. I’ll be at the helm in fifteen to make the announcement over the PA.”  
          “Ma’am! Don’t have to tell me twice!” The vigor’s back in Joker’s voice.  
          Shepard can relate.

 

          “Docking procedures have started now. Once we disembark we’re headed for Citadel Tower. We’ll probably be getting our mission briefing from Udina.” Shepard finishes attaching the segment of hardsuit, but takes a moment to double-check that everything is fitted right. Straightening, she closes her gear locker with a clang. “We’re going as representatives of the Alliance. Just try to look snappy.”  
          Suiting up next to her, Ashley furrows her brow in concentration and nods. “Right. Do you think Udina talked to the Council?”  
          “He’s the Alliance ambassador. The human ambassador. Maybe he agreed to have the Alliance pony up most of the attack force. Hell, maybe it’s just Alliance and they’re going to wish us luck. But at least someone’s finally stepping up.”  
          Ashley opens her mouth to respond, but instead she looks past Shepard, eyes widening. “Ah – hello, um…”  
          Shepard turns. Captain Kirrahe walks down the stairway and towards the two women. Stopping before Shepard, he blinks and nods to her. “Commander Shepard.”  
          “Captain.” The STG unit has kept to themselves since the trip back. No doubt they’d wasted no time writing and encrypting their own reports and discreetly bouncing them off the Normandy’s comm channels – and maybe even receiving their own reports in turn.  
          “It’s been an honor working alongside you and yours, Commander Shepard. The threat we discovered was one that the entire galaxy should have answered to. We of the STG will never forget the Alliance’s aid. Or Lieutenant Commander Alenko’s sacrifice.”  
          Ashley, sitting just out of Kirrahe’s line of sight, flinches visibly.  
          “Thank you, Captain Kirrahe,” Shepard says, nodding back. He mentioned the Alliance specifically – not the Council. “You’ll be departing once we’ve docked, I assume.”  
          “Yes. My unit and I must recuperate and debrief with our superiors here at the Citadel. The next mission will come soon enough. I am sure it is the same for you.”  
          “That’s correct.” Shepard pauses. The salarian captain standing before her has lost people too. The men babbling in the dim light of Saren’s facility, the men gunned down defending the bomb with Ashley – and the unit lost with Kaidan. “You may not have glory and recognition from your own people, but for what little it’s worth – you have our gratitude, for everything you did.”  
          “That is worth more than a little, N7. I hope that I will have the honor of working with you again, someday.” He holds out both his hands, and Shepard offers hers in turn. The first time they’d met, it’d been a human gesture – but this time, he gently envelops both of her hands in his, and instead of a shake, he slowly lowers their hands in a single shallow fall and rise. Without another word, Kirrahe turns and disappears back up the stairway, out of sight.  
          “Ma’am?” Ashley says slowly.  
          “Salarian gesture of respect, and encouragement. It means… sort of like…”  
          “Something like a ‘keep on kicking ass’ kind of thing?”  
          “Right.” Shepard gives a short laugh. “Pretty big coming from an STG captain.”  
          “No joke,” Ashley says, straightening and following her commander as they make their way back up to the main deck, towards the airlock. Around them crew members work at their stations, completing docking procedures and opening Citadel channels. Ashley’s brow furrows slightly, deep in thought. “I hope the Council takes a cue from them.”  
          “The Council is only concerned with appearances,” a two-toned voice answers. Garrus paces along to catch up with them as they pass the CIC map. “They’re politicians.”  
          “So that’s a no, then,” Ashley says, eyeing Garrus up and down. “Are you coming too?”  
          “One last try to make them see,” Garrus says. The confidence seems a little forced.  
          A heavy thud reverberates the ship as the docking mechanisms lock down on the Normandy. Shepard gives them a little wave to follow her. She remembers the report; Councilor Tevos’ cold anger and Councilor Sparatus’ outright scolding. And most tellingly, she remembers the history of inaction they have shown every step of the way.  
          “I appreciate the effort, Officer Vakarian, but do you think it’ll work?” Shepard works hard to keep her voice even.  
          “They shut down my investigation to protect their image in the first place,” Garrus says as they reach the airlock. “That means I didn’t join you because the Council sent me. I joined because of my own judgment, as a turian of the Hierarchy. In all honesty… it won’t do anything. But it’s still making a statement. That’s all I can give you.”  
          The airlock doors close behind them, followed by a series of thuds and beeps as the Normandy goes through the various security protocols to open the outer door to the Citadel’s docking area. In the pause Shepard takes the moment to throw a quick glance Garrus’ way. All he can give me? As if he hadn’t given enough so far?  
          The airlock doors open, revealing the long boarding ramp and the walkway to the connecting hangar, where an elevator will take them to the Citadel proper. The strange feeling of déjà vu alights over Shepard as they reach the elevators – she has only been here twice in her life – first after Eden Prime, at the beginning of all this – and shortly after to help with Talitha, the girl from Mindoir.  
          Every trip here has been a whirlwind, every visit an ordeal. Maybe after all this is over, she can finally experience the galaxy’s capital as just a place to visit, instead of another point of conflict. The three of them make their way down the boarding ramp and the connection walkways, to the elevator. After a brief moment it opens, and they step inside.  
          “Commander. While we’re on the subject, I have something to discuss with you.” Garrus’ voice is calm and regulation-even.  
          The elevator doors close around them and it begins its gentle descent. Shepard clears her throat, keeping herself facing forward. “Of course, Vakarian. What’s on your mind?”  
          “Well… the Council. It’s not just that they protected Saren. They…” He exhales. “I mean no offense, but I think this is the sort of thing you only learn living on the Citadel. Spectres… don’t get punished. Not really. I never heard of it as a kid, or even as a C-Sec officer.”  
          Shepard turns, calmly but surely, and looks him in the eye. “You’re saying even if we catch him and bring him in… they’ll let him go?”  
          “I’m saying that this isn’t the first time a Spectre has done this. Well, the galactic extinction is new, as far as I know, but…” he meets her gaze, cool and composed. “Spectres have abused their power in the past. When they get captured – if they get captured – the offended party gets a trial, interrogation, what-have-you. But the Council always insists on carrying out their own punishments.”  
          “What happens?” Ashley asks.  
          “Couldn’t tell you. They go off the radar; but that’s par the course for a Spectre, don’t you think? Even among us C-sec officers, there was this rumor; that the Council would give them a nice untraceable account and send them off to Terminus to disappear.”  
          The thoughts race through Shepard’s mind even before he finishes speaking. The thought of working so hard – sacrificing so much – just to deliver him right back to Terminus?  
           _Kaidan._  
          “He is not… going to disappear,” Shepard says through half-clenched teeth. “And at this point? I don’t think he’s going to go down quietly, and I’m not interested in dragging this out any longer than I have to.”  
          “But if we do manage to bring him in,” Ashley says quietly. Darkly. “And he goes to trial through Alliance tribunals. And the Council orders that he’s sent to them for the sentencing.”  
          Shepard swallows, nods once. Looking back to Ashley, she says, “It won’t happen. I’ll… make sure of it.”  
          As she turns she catches Garrus’ eye, and even between human and turian cultural boundaries she can feel the unsaid message pass between them: _I’m a Spectre. Above the law._  
          The elevator doors open, revealing the connection lobby of the Citadel’s spaceport. People of every race and creed move in that chaotic dance to their destinations, and above all, no one gives the three a second glance. The wide glass double doors the lead out to the Citadel are awash in the light of the artificial day.  
          As they move out into the disorder of the capital, Garrus moves into the front and leads them down the cramped streets and crowds on their path to the Citadel Tower. Over certain paths, from certain angles, the faint view of the Citadel’s other arms are visible in the sky above them. _A marvel of technology. Left by the Reapers._  
          Shepard follows beside Garrus, stewing. The Council, letting Saren go? He hadn’t sounded unsure, or even angry. An outrageous thought; but all things considered it’s not very surprising. As she thinks it over, a single notion reassures her – where the Council fails, the Alliance will pull her through.  
          Finally the stairwells and footpaths and connection buildings lead to the Presidium, the heart of the Citadel. Shepard swallows as they step out into the quiet, tranquil scenery. The pathways cross back and forth over the lake that runs the length of the district, and through the bright green lawns of something close to grass. Before the Tower, the statue adorning the water is the miniaturized mass relay, suspended over the bridge. As they pass beneath it, Shepard remembers taking this path with her marines, back when they’d first reported in.  
           _…Kaidan halts outright to observe the sculpture looming over them. “Why would the Protheans have a monument to their own invention?”_  
          Gritting her teeth, Shepard keeps her gaze straight forward.  
          As they reach the Tower, a distant commotion rises up, from further down the district. Shepard turns sharply at the noise – shouting, barely contained.  
          Gathered at the edge of the lake is a group of humans, waving signs. Bystanders both human and alien try very hard to ignore them, and their perimeter is separated by C-Sec officers, watching the scene warily. One look at the protestor signs is enough to explain everything.  
          “Humans go your own way,” Ashley reads, half under her breath. “The hunter and his dog. Don’t let Shanxi happen again. Vote out the alien appeasers.”  
          “Terra Firma party members,” Shepard says, focusing on the entrance to the Tower. “Just keep your head down. If they see me they’re gonna ask for a statement, and I don’t have the energy to explain that the ‘appeasers’ are right.”  
          “Probably wouldn’t be happy to see me, either,” Garrus says, watching the riled crowd. “Shanxi was – a misunderstanding. We would never invade humanity.”  
          “They’re racists,” Ashley says grimly as they reach the Tower and call down the elevator. “I doubt any of those jackasses even know someone who was at Shanxi. Like they have any right to bring it up for their own political points.”  
          Shepard says nothing as they step into the relative safety of the elevator, which closes and smoothly begins to rise. Terra Firma – and even their hidden puppetmasters, Cerberus – are going to be least of the galaxy’s problems if they can’t reach Ilos in time.  
          At the top of the Tower, the inner chambers are also exactly how Shepard remembers. The wide interior courtyard, covered in brooks and fountains and trees raining soft pink blossoms. Clerks and attendants move about in hushed tones, bathed in the soft red light.  
          Shepard takes a breath as she moves across the center. The nearer clerks watch them in quiet shock. A soldier, in a full combat hardsuit, stalking across the grounds like a predator – she knows she’s just as out of place as she feels. Last time she’d been in awe of the Tower’s inner chambers. Now the veneer has worn away.  
          At the other end of the courtyard, the three of them walk the winding path that leads to the visitor’s platform. All the wasted time, the drawn-out ceremony – Shepard wants to cut past the path, walk over the neatly trimmed grass and flowers, and get this over with. But even from here, she can see the Council standing on their high-raised dais, waiting patiently for her to arrive. Also waiting at the visitor’s platform is none other than Donnel Udina, who stands in his expensive suit with his arms folded. Most surprisingly, he is calm – subdued, even – and doesn’t turn even as Shepard steps up beside him and defaults into a parade rest.  
          “Commander Shepard,” the asari – Tevos – says. She is the picture of serenity – there’s no hint of the earlier anger. “We welcome you home, our Spectre. Your work has protected the Citadel and thus protected the galaxy.”  
          Shepard says nothing. Instead she studies their faces, processes their words. Udina had definitely risen in status since her induction as a Spectre. Had it been his word alone that convinced them?  
          She shifts her weight.  
          This is too easy.  
          “We have patrols guarding the relay in Citadel space,” Tevos continues, giving Shepard a deep nod. “Should Saren wish to attack, he will find the route blocked to him. His schemes are finished, thanks to you.”  
          There it is.  
          It’s disappointing, unsatisfying, and all-too familiar. “A blockade? A blockade isn’t going to work.” She falters – _keep your voice calm, keep yourself calm._ “Saren isn’t coming to the Citadel. He’s going to Ilos.”  
          “And you would have us go chasing after him?” The turian councilor doesn’t bother to hide his sneer. “The relay you offered is in Terminus. We’re not sending Citadel Ships through wild space. A blockade is enough.”  
          “Saren has been exposed, Shepard,” Udina says quietly.  
          Shepard turns sharply to look at him. “Secrecy isn’t his weapon. Ambassador. The Conduit is, and we still have no idea what it will do.”  
          “He’s manipulating you,” the asari councilor says sternly. “What could be a bigger plan than attacking us?”  
          There’s no getting around it. Shepard faces them down. “Saren is a servant of the Reapers. On Virmire –”  
          “We have seen no evidence of these Reapers,” the salarian councilor finally speaks, almost regretfully. “The STG team from my homeworld offered no such testimony. They said it was a genophage research facility, nothing more.”  
           _Kirrahe never saw the interior of the facility,_ Shepard realizes. _Imness was the one who told me about the experiments. Imness had fled_ – and she didn’t even know if he’d made it out of the base. Shepard swallows hard. Salarians put a massive amount of social importance on facts, on logic and being correct. Kirrahe could believe Shepard with all his heart, but he still wouldn’t verify something he didn’t see himself.  
          “Speaking of Virmire,” the turian says. “You once again prove that you are incapable of being discreet.”  
          For a second Shepard can only gape. Every step – every decision – she has clung to the lawful choice, the path of least chaos and bloodshed. And here she is, dismissed as yet another brutal Spectre, devastating through the galaxy?  
          What was all the effort for?  
          “If Saren finds this Conduit, we’re all screwed,” Shepard finally says. The words come out ragged, sharp as razors, but she can scarcely hold it in. “Everyone. If none of you want to help, then that’s fine. But I’m going to be at the head of this fleet, and I’ll stop him –”  
          “You seem unable to let this go. As we feared.” The asari’s words are soft, prim. They cut through Shepard like a knife.  
          “–What?”  
          “You have helped humanity’s standing in the galaxy, Shepard,” Udina says, carefully pronouncing each word. “But now you’re ruining it.”  
          Shepard turns to him with wide eyes. “No –”  
          “Your little… delusions could be tolerated while you were getting results. But it’s become too much to excuse. You must be contained.”  
          “You son of a bitch!” Ashley stalks forward, pounding up the stairs to the platform, where she’s only stopped by Shepard’s outstretched arm. “You’re selling us out! After all we fucking did?! _After Kaidan_!?”  
          “There’s no fleet.” Shepard hears her own flat voice say the words. “There never was.”  
          Ignoring Ashley, Udina stares her down. Coolly, he replies, “Since the Normandy docked, all of its primary systems have been on lockdown. That ship won’t be leaving until I give permission. We’ll discuss it again after mandatory evaluations and counseling sessions.”  
          The betrayal flows slow and hot. But even past that – there’s no surprise. Udina’s a politician, just like the Council. Hadn’t he forced out Anderson for doing this exact same thing?  
          “After everything, you don’t believe me.” It’s not a question.  
          Udina doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “Leave these chambers, Commander, or I’ll call C-Sec to remove you myself.” 

 

          The gentle sunshine of the Presidium basks down on the district, glinting off the lake surface and illuminating the white bone-like structure of the station. The metallic krogan statue rising out of the lake casts a wide beam of shade. It falls over their waterside bench, a spot surrounded by several trees of various alien worlds.  
          Leaning back on the bench, Shepard lets her head sit against the backrest and closes her eyes. Garrus sits beside her, looking out at the lake. Silent.  
          Before them both Ashley paces, stalking back and forth. The ragged sounds of her breath betray the tears she’s holding back.  
“We… we have to do something,” Ashley finally says. “We have to go!”  
          “There’s nowhere to go, Chief,” Shepard says dully without opening her eyes. “There’s no ship we could book that would go to Terminus without asking questions.” The peace of the Presidium gives her plenty of space to think about her utter defeat. Not even a defeat – Shepard had walked into it compliant and willing.  
          From the moment those docking arms had locked on the Normandy, she’d been trapped, helpless. Talking to Garrus and Ashley on the elevator, promising them she wouldn’t let the Council get away with petty politics – and petty politics had already tightened the leash, ready to bring her to heel.  
           _A fleet of ships._ The shame curdles so hard it makes her stomach ache. Everything about the message had been strange, and yet Shepard had come running back without a question.  
          The sounds of Ashley’s footsteps stop, and Shepard opens her eyes as the younger woman stares out at the lake, at the people of various races crossing over the footbridges with relaxed steps.  
          “The galaxy’s about to end and everyone… everyone is just…” she motions to the groups in the distance. “We’re the only ones who fucking care?!”  
          “We’re military, Chief Williams,” Garrus says gently. “They’re civilians. Civilians never believe the enemy is real until they’re howling at the gates.”  
          “We have to do something,” Ashley repeats, staring out at the lake and trembling.  
          Shepard’s omni-tool gives a quiet beep, and she slowly wills herself to sit up straight and check the notification. The holo-screen that appears above her left arm displays a single unread script message, sent only a few seconds ago.  
          The adrenaline shocks through her when she sees the sender.  
          “Garrus. How far away is a place called Flux?”  
          “Flux?” He tilts his head to the side, just a tiny bit. “It’s a high end club, near enough from here.”  
          Shepard stands in one fluid motion. “Take us there. We’re going.”

 

          The muffled music is audible even through the door. It may be daytime – at least by the artificial standards set by the Citadel – but this deep down in the maze of buildings and alleys and tunnels, the light means little.  
          As she opens the door and steps inside, Shepard scans over the scene. The club is clean, classy, and awash in an aqua light. A set of stairs to the right of the entrance leads up to a balcony casino, filled with well-dressed patrons. On the ground level, a dance floor takes up a portion of the far side, next to a massive bar. The rest of the space contains a series of glassy tables and booths. Members of every race mingle and gamble and dance – and many carry themselves with the posture of off-duty soldiers.  
          Sitting in far corner of the room, Shepard sees him – broad-shouldered, dark skinned, wearing simple black slacks and a gray shirt with the Alliance logo on the breast. He sits leaning back, both hands cradling a drink on the table. To anyone else, David Anderson is just another man enjoying his time off.  
          He opens his eyes and sits up as they approach. His face is calm, as always. Now that Shepard stands before him, it feels as though they might have a chance.  
          It’s a naïve and unprofessional, she knows. But she holds it all the same.  
          “Officer Vakarian. Chief Williams.” Anderson nods as they all join him at the table. “Shepard. God help me, I wanted to warn you. They’d restricted ingoing calls to the Normandy before I’d even learned what Udina was planning.”  
          “This is on me, sir,” Shepard says tightly. “I was making him look bad in front of the Council, so I had to pay the price, same as you. I should have known better.”  
          He studies her for a moment, giving her a grim smile. “You think this is over, but it’s not. You have to get to Ilos.”  
          “I’m going to need a ship for that.”  
          “No. You’re going to need the Normandy. And I’m going to get it for you.”  
          “You what?” Ashley leans forward.  
          “Udina is the one who gave the lockdown order, not the Council.” Anderson’s calm voice may as well be talking about the weather. “If I get into his office, I can hack the Citadel-linked computer. I can lift the lockdown.”  
          “Absolutely not,” Shepard says sharply. A distant part of her realizes the tone she’s taking with a superior officer, but it’s vetoed completely. “You’ll be the one to take the fall after we leave. Udina’s going to go berserk. He’ll try for treason _at least_ –”  
          “Shepard.” Anderson’s deep voice cuts her off immediately. “I’ve gone over every report you’ve sent back. Some of them, I’ve read so much I’ve practically memorized them. So tell me, right now: Are they true?”  
          A chill goes down her spine; suddenly, for all the music and talking, the club seems frozen. Shepard takes a breath. From all that’s happened, there’s a sudden hesitation to answer – as if Anderson will dismiss her as easily as the Council, as Udina.  
          But one fact will always be true: if she can’t trust David Anderson, then she’s in trouble.  
          “They are, sir.”  
          He nods once, as if he was expecting that answer. “Well, if even half of it is true, then we’re in some damn trouble. As it is, if you don’t go, I think we’re all going to die anyways. You, and I, and your combat crew, and your noncombatants – I don’t think any of us have much of a choice.”  
          It hurts like hell, but she nods. “Understood, sir.”  
          “If you make it in time, then I’m sure they’ll pardon me when you get back. If you don’t make it in time, then… We can say we tried.” He sighs, and runs a hand over the top of his closely-shaved head. “Shepard, are you ready to get the hell off the Citadel?”

 

          Across the flight console, a single line of lights glow a steady bright red. The various systems and interlocks between the Normandy and the Citadel’s dock – all on furious lockdown. Shepard watches them, keeping her body still. In moments like this, it’s important she give off that calm, steady attitude. Like Anderson – just pretend to be Anderson.  
          Sitting in his seat, Joker gently drums his fingers on the console as he stares them down. His whole body trembles with that anxious energy.  
          Considering they’re about to steal a military ship, she can understand.  
          “Hacking Udina’s console,” Joker mutters under his breath. “Udina’s the freaking Alliance ambassador. Can Anderson do it?”  
          “Anderson is an N7. The first N7. He taught me everything I know.” Shepard crosses her arms to keep her hands from fidgeting. “If you think I can do it, then Anderson can do it easy.”  
          “So this is gonna be a breeze for him.”  
          “Yeah. It’s what comes after that I’m worried about.”  
          “You’re a Spectre. Can’t you just use your powers to pardon him, or like… break him out or some – ohshit!” The lights switch to green all at once, and Joker lunges forward, working at the controls at breakneck speed. Almost immediately, the Normandy gives that gentle dip that signals release of the docking arms.  
          “Beginning the ‘run-like-hell’ phase, Commander,” he says, taking a quick second to adjust his baseball cap. In the wide helm windows, the view of the dock drops as the Normandy begins to fly under its own power. The view of the Citadel is breathtaking as the ship turns and steers right, over one of the open arms, and towards the freedom of open space.  
          By now they would have had to notice. There’s always the chance they’ll be shot out of the air, or gunned down by the Citadel patrols. Hell, there’s a Spectre on board – maybe the Destiny Ascension will chase them down personally. She remembers Joker’s disdain of the Citadel flagship, when they’d first arrived on the Citadel. Hopefully his faith in the Normandy is well founded.  
          If they’ve noticed by now, then Anderson is definitely in trouble at this point. Under arrest from C-Sec, or maybe even Alliance military police. Now Shepard herself, and everyone on board the ship, are effectively outlaws.  
           _I’m sorry,_ she thinks with a pang of pain, as the Normandy clears the last of the Citadel arms and reaches the minimum distance for FTL. The ship’s AI triggers the gentle lurch as the FTL drives engage and at that point, the Normandy is beyond easy reach. The relief is stark, but so is the regret.  
           _I’m sorry,_ she thinks again.

 

          Standing next to the CIC map, Navigator Pressly salutes but grins wide as Shepard approaches, looking almost giddy. “I… can’t believe we did it! We pulled it off!” He laughs a little. “We’re all gonna get court martialed for sure, but… This is exciting!”  
          Shepard can’t help the smile. “Good to see you’re enjoying yourself, Navigator. What’s the final count on crew opinion?”  
          “I made the announcement the moment you got back, Commander. Gave people time to leave without risking Anderson’s mission. And the damndest thing? Nobody left!”  
          “Nobody?”  
          “That’s right, ma’am! All Alliance crew, present and accounted for. And it goes without saying all of our alien comrades chose to stay.” He practically beams. “We’re all right behind you, ready to take down Saren. Even Kaidan’s cheering us on, I know it.”  
          His words are earnest, honestly spoken, but the mention of her lieutenant starts a lump in her throat. “Good to hear, Pressly. We’re in the home stretch.”  
          “Of course, Commander.” He motions to the route displayed over the CIC map. “We’ve got the shortest relay route dialed in. We’ll be heading off the beaten path into interstellar space here – ” he points to a sector, near Terminus. “But according to the coordinates you have, the Mu relay will be there.”  
          “Understood.” Shepard studies the map. Venturing out into interstellar space – away from known relay paths and planetary systems. Blind exploration into empty space was considered at best a dangerous waste of fuel and resources – at the current coordinates, the Mu relay could have gone undiscovered for entire lifetimes. “I’ll be at the helm with Joker. According to the Council, there’s blockades at the relay leading to the Citadel, and I want to be there when we hit it.”  
          “We’ve got our stealth, ma’am.” Pressly nods. “Chief Engineer Adams won’t let us down.”  
          “I don’t doubt it, Pressly. Let me know if anything changes.” She nods as he salutes again, and she turns to double back towards the bridge. There’s a loud part of her that wants to go make the rounds, speak with her crew working on the ship, but the thought of the Citadel’s blockade looms large in her mind.  
           Pressly had said that all of the crew had stayed – they had faced stealing an Alliance vessel, becoming criminals – and they had chosen to remain. She swallows as she passes the last station of crew, working at their monitors linked to the CIC. She’s not sure how she’s going to repay this vote of loyalty – maybe she can’t – but she’s damn well going to make sure it’s not wasted.  
          “Er… Commander!” Tali’s voice calls out just as Shepard reaches the doors back to the helm. She weaves through the crowded CIC in a conscious effort to catch up with Shepard, waving the Commander down. “Ah, Shepard, I wanted to talk to you from the moment this ship took off!”  
          “Sure, Tali,” Shepard says, giving the girl enough time to catch her breath. “Is something up?”  
          “Ah, it’s just…” Tali begins. “We got away, and it’s all very exciting, but I have to ask: what is the punishment for such a thing, from the Alliance? Or the Council? And for you especially, as the acting captain of this ship…”  
          “For me? It wouldn’t be pretty. Embarrassing Udina like this, acting against him… He’ll be looking to make an example of me for sure.” Shepard pauses. “I mean, there has to be something similar in quarian culture, right? Does being the daughter of a Migrant Fleet Admiral get you a lesser sentence?”  
          Tali’s laughter is high and a little frantic. “Um. Shepard. Stealing a ship is one the two things in quarian law that is a capital offense. If my father knew I did this, he’d probably order the execution himself.”  
          “Oh.” Shepard frowns. No wonder she’s worried. _And she still chose to stay._ “Well, I don’t think the Alliance would go that far. In any case, it won’t matter, because they won’t catch us. I promise you, Tali. You don’t have to worry.”  
          Deep down, Shepard has already resolved – there’s no way she’ll let her crew take the fallout for this decision. It’s a naïve hope, she knows – as if she’ll have any power over it in the case they do get caught – but the resolution sits, hard and unmoving.  
          “I know, Shepard. If anyone can do this… it’s you.” The frantic edge is gone from Tali’s voice now. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I just seems to me… We really are reaching the end here, with all of this and Saren.”  
          “I hope so.” The words are little more forlorn than Shepard planned. Returning to the Citadel, speaking with the Council – it had all been a constant reminder of how long this had gone. And now, even in the middle of the hunt, Shepard can’t deny it.  
           _I’m so fucking tired._  
          Tali reaches out and takes Shepard’s hand, holding it tightly. “Don’t worry, Commander. All this will be sorted out after you save the day. And when I go back to my people, I’ll be prouder than anything to tell them I was a part of it.”  
          Shepard smiles. “And I’ll be prouder than anything to remind the Council that you helped.”  
          Tali squeezes Shepard’s hand. “You… you are acting captain of this ship, held in esteem among your people and among the Citadel. And you have treated me like an equal, a member of your own crew. You have been my friend, Shepard, when so many people just want quarians to go back to the Migrant Fleet and stay there. Thank you for that.”  
          Shepard doesn’t withdraw her hand. Here and now, they are starting the goodbyes, and a small part of her hurts to know their paths will scatter after it’s over. “I’m not gonna lie, Tali. I’m really going to miss you when you head home.” Unspoken is the fact that after Tali returns to the Flotilla, Shepard will probably never see her again.  
          “That won’t… that won’t happen for a long while, yet. And I will always be there, if you need me.” Tali releases Shepard’s hand, and with a little wave, begins her path back.  
          “Thanks, Tali,” Shepard answers, watching her go. It almost sounds as if – as if Tali plans on staying after everything is over. But maybe not – Tali has always been quick to lovingly describe her people and culture, admit her own homesickness. There’s no easy reason for why she would decide to stick around afterwards – a reason that would matter more to her than her Pilgrimage, her people. _And if she did stay… for what?_ To remain with the Normandy and serve as some kind of civilian contact for the Alliance?  
          There’s no way she would choose that.  
          Frowning, Shepard finally enters the helm. The condition of Tali’s pilgrimage is still high up in the air; and should this mission go badly it won’t matter what either of them wants.  
          Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Shepard glances to Joker as she takes her spot at the center of the helm, behind the pilot’s seat and secondary terminals. The massive helm windows reveal a distant starscape behind a storm of dark blue waves – the mass effect field around the ship as it moves faster-than-light.  
          “Joker, any sign of that blockade?”  
          “Nothing, ma’am. No readings from the observers at the CIC radar posts. Nothing on my end. Two minutes till we phase out of FTL. Estimated fifteen minutes till we hit lock-on with the mass relay outta here.”  
          Shepard watches the windows, forcing her body to relax. Joker’s ending the FTL jump far sooner than normal – travelling at faster-than-light prevents the Normandy from using its stealth. Slow but cautious. Shepard wants to rocket forward at full speed, but she also knows the wisdom in what he’s planning. Getting caught by a Citadel fleet won’t help anyone. So she says nothing – just stands, and waits.  
          The blue swirling pulses suddenly snap to the center of their view and disappear. Shepard tenses. Now they’re out of FTL, and cruising at normal speed. Visible to the eye, but invisible to any other ship’s searching systems. Their progress crawls at an excruciating pace.  
          Eventually the distance closes, and the mass relay looms before them. The area around the behemoth structure is full of ships, merchant and civilian alike. No fleets of warships can be seen, Citadel or otherwise. The Normandy’s slow, casual approach goes like all the others in queue. No ambush appears as the Normandy locks on with the relay’s jump systems. No orders to stand down, as the stabilizer rings at the center of the relay begin to rotate faster. No military ship fires as the relay’s energy crackles around the ship, preparing to send them to the next relay in the path, like a stone skipping over a pond.  
          Finally, the relay activates, and the Normandy is launched within the newly created corridor of space-time. Normal travel won’t resume until they reach the final relay on their path. Barring a miracle, the Citadel has no hope of catching them now.  
          Shepard exhales, loud and ragged. Nothing. No ships, no blockade. Logic whispers that she should be happy there were no fleets of cruisers and dreadnoughts lying in wait.  
          But pride whispers too. They had said – straight to her face – that they had at least believed her enough to station patrols at the Citadel’s system relay. If Saren had been foolish enough to attack the Citadel head-on, at least he’d be met with some kind of fighting force. And yet, the only thing at the network’s hub relay was merchant ships, private vessels, passenger transports.  
          It was just another lie, meant to pacify her. And she had believed them, prepared her crew for the inevitable showdown.  
          And it never came.  
          “Aww. No sign of pursuit,” Joker reports from his post in a good-natured singsong. “Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I kind of wanted the Citadel to chase us.”  
          His reply pulls Shepard out of her own musing. Hearing it said back helps to remind her that avoiding a fight is a good thing, pride be damned. “Wanted to have some fun, Joker? There’s always time to play hide and seek later. Against things way more scary than the Citadel.”  
          “It doesn’t sound as much fun when you say it like that,” Joker says. “I just wanted to see what this ship can really do. It’s not like I could go too crazy during the impromptu test flight.”  
          “Impromptu test flight?” Shepard raises her eyebrows. “Is this about your assignment to the Normandy? This story I keep never hearing?”  
          “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies, ma’am.” He suddenly busies himself at the console. A largely wasted effort, since the Normandy is effectively on autopilot until the last relay jump.  
          Shepard snorts. “Fine, Moreau. I’m going to do suit checks. Notify me if anything changes. And I swear I’ll hear this story before I die, even if I have to drag it out of you.”  
          She’s barely a step to the door when Joker clears his throat. “Agh. Ma’am.”  
          His face is a shade paler when she turns back to look at him. He motions to a secondary terminal, nearest to his post. “Take a seat. Er, I mean, could you please? I’m not, like, giving my commander an order or anything.”  
          Nonplussed, Shepard walks over and sits in the chair, facing her pilot. He scratches his chin through the beard. He drums his fingers lightly on the console. The he grimaces.  
          Then he says, “This isn’t the first time I’ve stolen the Normandy.”  
           _Oh._  
          He seems to be waiting for some kind of reaction. “Good… to know. Go on.” She connects the points – _he stole the Normandy and now he’s the pilot. Well, I’m already impressed._  
          “Okay. Well. Let’s see. You know I was born on Arcturus Station. I was stationed there, too, after flight school. You’d think working at the Alliance central command would help me out, but… I was given shuttle duty. Yeah, I’m carting around some real important officers, but – c’mon. Shuttle. Duty.” The flat glance he shoots her says enough.  
          “So, I hear they’ve been testing this top-secret state of the art starship frigate, and they’re going for a test run. And I’m shuttling all the bigwigs to the test sit. Captain Dillard, Captain Anderson, and the turian rep, General Invectus. I mention to them that I’m a way better pilot than whatever shmuck they picked. And – you know what Invectus said? He said…”  
          Joker pauses, swallows. He looks down. “He said that a cripple could never hope to helm a ship like the Normandy.”  
          A cold shock flashes through Shepard. Joker’s spark of temper when she’d first discussed his disease – he was waiting for her to say the same, back then. “He was wrong. That was a horrible thing to say.”  
          “It was a great thing to say, Commander. After that, I didn’t care anymore. I figured, I could either let that go and be an all-star pilot left to putz around in station shuttles…” Joker shrugs. “Or I could steal the Normandy, take her for a spin, and have one hell of a story for prison.”  
          “So you stole it. Right then and there.” Shepard doesn’t bother to hide the amusement in her voice.  
          Joker doesn’t miss her tone. “Ah… yeah. I had to ferry the pilot too, y’know. When I learned who he was, I locked him in the shuttle, took his badge, and boarded. Locked myself in the cockpit and… went for a joyride.” He pauses, and then his voice softens. “I took her through the whole obstacle course. I could hear Anderson and Invictus on the comm, sending everybody and their mom to shoot out the engines. But of course they never touched me.”  
          “Anderson watched you steal the Normandy,” Shepard restates, failing to hold back a laugh. “What did he do?”  
          “After I finished the course – with time to spare, under fire from the Arcturus security fleet – I landed her and turned myself in. All the brass are waiting for me, and I tell them again: I’m the best pilot in the whole friggin’ Alliance. And…” He shrugs again. “Invectus took it all back. He pretty much said outright that all the turian-human relations behind the Normandy might be strained if they didn’t make me the pilot. And damn if Anderson didn’t agree with him completely. That’s… how I got the job.”  
          “That’s how you got the job,” Shepard echoes, processing this information. “Wow. Anderson never even mentioned this.”  
          “I owe him big,” Joker says with a hoarse laugh. “Not only did he vouch for me on the Alliance’s behalf, he got them to drop the charges. I was ready to spend all this time in the slammer, and thanks to him, I don’t even go a day. Docked pay like you wouldn’t believe, enough probation and promotion restrictions to fill a book, but… he turned my life around.”  
          “He… has a way of doing that,” Shepard says cautiously. She has her own version of that story, but it’s too close to the bone. In any case, Joker probably already knows the general details; the sixteen year-old girl who lost everything in a batarian raid – and would enlist to follow in David Anderson’s footsteps two years later. The ugly facts of those two years between are better left unknown. She nods again, smiling at the sheer cheek of what she’s been told. “No wonder he was so sure we’d get away. I didn’t know my pilot had practical experience in this kind of thing.”  
          “What can I say, Commander? It worked out fine for me last time.”  
          “Let’s hope your second try goes just as well,” Shepard says, standing. “Thanks for the story, Joker. Finally.”  
          “Thanks… thanks for understanding, Commander. Guess I was kinda afraid how you would take it.” He turns back to the console and does more busy work. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but… No matter where you gotta go, I’ll get you there.”  
          Shepard strides out of the helm and makes her way for the gear lockers to finally get on with those suit checks. _After all that, and then he finally just told me. Wonder what made him change his mind._  
          But there’s no time to mull it over; there’s suit checks and gun maintenance, deciding who will be ground crew, assigning roles. Ilos is a completely unknown quantity, but N7 training is practically made for unknown quantities…  
          She’s in the storage bay with a hardsuit gauntlet in her hands when it hits her. Her parting remark to Joker: _I swear I’ll hear this story before I die, even if I have to drag it out of you._  
          It was meant to be a joke, a long deadline to this gag between them. But he’d paled, asked her to sit. Told her the story.  
           _Kaidan._  
           _Joker’s afraid I’m going to die._


	18. Through Graveyard, Over Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy almost done!
> 
> \- This is finally the mission that required the use of the Mako; it actually worked quite well with how the mission plays out. And if we have the Mako, we need to have the obligatory "running over enemies as a mode of attack"! 
> 
> \- The most glaring thing in this chapter is the big reveal with Vigil; in the game it's a lengthy, multi-part conversation. I tried delivering it in smaller bits or spreading out the pacing a little bit... But no matter how many rewrites I slogged through I couldn't get it to work like how I wanted. I know it's a cardinal sin of writing but FINE VIGIL YOU WIN KEEP YOUR INFODUMP (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

          “Getting preliminary reports from our sensors, Commander,” Pressly says over the comm. “Lightning storms and wildfires on the dark side of the planet. High levels of oxygen in the atmosphere. All meaningful surface area is… giving off readings. The whole damn planet is one big city!”  
          Shepard studies the planet filling the view of the Normandy’s helm windows. Here on the bright side of the planet, the light hitting its atmosphere seems to cast a rusty reddish glow.  
          “Joker. Status of geth ships.” She glances down at him.  
          “Clustered near the equator. None of them have picked us up yet. Stealth is doing its job.”  
          “Commander, I’ve picked us out a landing spot.” Pressly’s voice hesitates. “Ten miles from the geth activity we picked up on the ground.”  
          “Ten miles?” Shepard says. “Pressly, we’re going for time here. I need better.”  
          “That’s as better as you’ll get, Commander,” Pressly says hotly. “Like I said, this planet is one big city! The biggest spot near the hot zone is forty meters. It’s too small for the Normandy!”  
          There’s no time to spare after their trip to the Citadel. That distance over foot is too long, no matter how it’s approached. The Mako’s top speed is around sixty miles an hour – but that’s in optimum conditions. In a city of ancient ruins, what are the chances of flat paved pathways? That number is nothing to plan for, only a best-case scenario –  
           _And best case is ruined when your boots hit the ground._  
          Shepard clenches her jaw, shakes her head. So close, and after so much; and they’re being foiled by landing space. The frustration boils up, even as she knows she’s asking the impossible. “We can’t make good time over ten miles –”  
          “I can do it,” Joker says. “The Mako.”  
          “Joker.” Shepard glances to him. “Even in the Mako, we can’t expect to reach the hot zone for at least– “  
          “No, I mean I can land you at the closer site,” Joker says, sounding surer with every word. “I’ll drop the Mako in out of the cargo bay. You can use the thrusters.”  
          “The thrusters aren’t able to fly,” Shepard says, frowning. “They’re meant to soften high drops in offroad conditions.”  
          “Right. Soften the landing.” Joker swivels the pilot’s chair to look her dead in the eye. “I can drop you in at enough of an angle that the thrusters can reverse enough of the inertia. Forty meters – The Mako can fit in that space, easy.”  
          “That… that’s suicide, Lieutenant Moreau!” Pressly says hotly over the comm. “That’s a drop with no room for mistakes. Your grandstanding is gonna get the combat team killed – ”  
          “I won’t. I’m telling you, I can do this.”  
          Shepard studies him for a few long moments. The secondary drop site is too far. The primary is too small. But is Joker actually overrating his own abilities? Just trying to prove a point? But – all of his awards and commendations. Stealing a top secret ship. _Landing the Normandy on the head of a pin._  
          “Joker. Take us down.” She nods to him once. “I’ll grab the combat team and board the Mako.”  
          He doesn’t gloat or cheer. Instead, Joker nods back to her and turns back to his console, working at the board so quickly Shepard can hardly keep up.  
          Striding across the CIC, Shepard ignores the looks from Pressly and makes her way through the ship to the cargo bay. Before she’s even reached the CIC’s other side, Ashley has already caught up with her.  
          “Commander. Requesting permission to join ground team.”  
          “Permission denied.”  
          “Ma’am!” The word is so pained, so forceful, that Shepard halts and faces her marine.  
          Ashley is in her full combat hardsuit, ready to go. After a quick, awkward moment, she takes a breath and says, “I need to go, ma’am. I need to do this. We’re up against a fleet of sentient dreadnoughts, and they’ve wiped out everyone before us so far. And I’m… I’m just infantry. My rifle may as well be spitballs. So please. Please let me go and help you take down Saren. Let me fight something where I can actually make a difference.”  
          This isn’t about Saren, or even the Reapers. Not really. Shepard can see – Ashley’s wide eyes, her quick breath. _This is about avenging Kaidan._  
          “Ash,” Shepard begins, as firmly – as gently – as she can. “I need you to listen to me. Don’t get angry. Don’t argue.” Painfully she remembers Kaidan’s message to Ashley, back at the STG camp. _Just… trust the Commander, okay? This woman knows what she’s doing._  
          Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.  
          Carefully picking over her words, Shepard continues. “I’m taking Vakarian and Urdnot again because this is going to be hell. I need people trained for fighting. That means no Tali, and no Liara, and – ” Ashley opens her mouth to reply, but Shepard holds up a hand, “And trust me, I heard no end of it from Liara, who wants to go down and see this place herself, even if it means facing Saren on the way.”  
          “That leaves you. You’re trained to fight, a damn good soldier. But you’re also – you’re also Alliance. Someone who knows the Alliance penal codes, and protocols, and regulations. So I need someone to be here, in case something happens to me, or someone has to make a call. I need – ”  
          These next words hurt. “I need an acting lieutenant. Just like those times Kaidan stayed behind to look after everyone – like back on Feros, when I was fighting the geth and we were waiting for the Perugia to arrive. It’s not a punishment. You are the only person I can rely on for this.”  
          For a long moment Ashley is stiff. Then she raises her chin and squares her shoulders, slipping into the regulation Alliance stance, standing at attention.  
          “Understood, Commander.” The words are thick with grief. “I’ll… look after them. I won’t let you down.”  
          “I know you won’t. I’ll be on comm when I need to report back. While I’m groundside, you’re giving the orders here.”  
          The two women salute. As Shepard turns, she can see the tears brimming in Ashley’s eyes. 

 

          The Mako is only a shadowy gloom underneath its tarpaulin. As Shepard approaches, the overhead lights switch on with an audible snap and illuminate the wide empty cargo bay. She bends and unfastens the first floor hook, revealing the first corner of the combat vehicle.  
          In the next heartbeat Garrus is beside her, unfastening the next clip and helping her throw back more of the covering. The shovel-nosed combat vehicle sits on its six wheels, the same as always. After most of it is revealed, Shepard drops down to one knee and inspects the thrusters built into the bottom and the sides. In a few minutes, their lives will be depending on these in a very real way.  
          “Commander,” Garrus’ voice says, from somewhere down at the other end of the Mako. “I just wanted to say… Thank you.”  
          “For what, Vakarian?” Shepard glances up towards the sound of his two-toned voice.  
          “For letting me come along. For trusting me, letting me be a part of your team. For… everything.” The last of the tarp disappears, and Garrus appears around the vehicle, approaching her. “Thank you. I…. I, uh…”  
          “No thanks are needed. You’ve helped me more than I could have ever asked.” Something lies between them, something unsaid. Shepard stands and faces him, forgetting the Mako. Yet again she tries to read between the lines. “Worried this crazy plan is gonna get us killed?”  
          “Not at all, Shepard,” Garrus answers quickly. “Just the opposite. I’ve actually decided that after all this is over, I’m going back to the Citadel. I’m going to… renew my Spectre candidacy.”  
          “I… see.” Shepard still can’t tell what he’s thinking. “You’re sure about this? Have you told your father?”  
          “I haven’t. Still figuring out how I’m going to say it, I guess. But I wanted to tell you. Seeing all the good you do, how you don’t let the Citadel – or anyone else – stop you from doing the right thing. I want to help people, and you showed me how to do it.”  
          The words are warm, admiring – and they send a thrill of alarm through her. Other words recall from across her memory, during a time when her mission had only been to arrest Saren the terrorist. She’d been looking for an Officer Vakarian, and Harkin had told her: _That turian’s a hothead. Thinks he can make a difference. The world’s gonna break him sooner or later. Guys like him don’t mesh well with ugly reality._  
          Swallowing, Shepard slowly toes the line between harsh and realistic. “It’s… it’s not easy, Garrus. I’m above Citadel law, sure, but… You’ve seen how much help we’ve gotten. If I had to do this on my own, then… I can see why lone Spectres go in guns blazing.”  
          “I know this is the path I need to take, Commander. Even if it’s hard. Even if my family won’t be there for the graduation ceremony.”  
          “If you’ve made up your mind, that’s all that matters,” Shepard says, forcing away the disquiet. “And you know you’ve got my personal comm channel numbers. If your dad doesn’t take it well, send me the date and I’ll be there. Uh, you know - for your graduation.”  
          “Commander – I – ” For a few dumbstruck moments they just look at each other. The silence stretches on, and then –  
          “So, Shepard!” Wrex comes jaunting down the stairs from the upper level. “Time to get us all killed in a fiery explosion?”  
          “Like always, Wrex.” Shepard clears her throat and motions him towards the Mako. “Think you can move this thing for me?”  
          “This is the only way we can land at the hot zone,” Garrus says. “It’s the sort of mission N7 operatives take.”  
          “Eh, I’m just complaining. I finally get to ride in the tomkah. I knew the humans would get some sense sooner or later.” Wrex pushes the Mako back as directed, squaring it on the lower hatch of the Normandy’s cargo bay doors. The armored military vehicle moves with only some effort from him.  
          “Moreau’s the best pilot in the Alliance,” Shepard says, and she believes it even as she speaks. “And if we don’t do this, we’re dead anyways.”  
          One last check to make sure the Mako is positioned correctly for the drop, and then she climbs through the armored hatch, settling into the driver’s spot. Garrus picks the seat next to hers, and Wrex maneuvers his way into the back. His bulk takes up the entire rear portion of the Mako, but iff he’s uncomfortable he doesn’t show it.  
          “Commander. All set? We’re heading around for another pass at the landing spot.” Joker’s voice is steady, sure.  
          “All ready, Moreau.” Shepard scans over the readouts across the Mako’s dash console. All units are green, fuel and air and shields are full.  
          “The drop coordinates are loaded into the Mako’s system,” Joker says. “Commencing drop.”  
          The Mako gives a heavy lurch as the cargo bay doors beneath them begin to open. Shepard scans the numbers over and over. Joker and the Normandy’s VI might have worked out the angles needed for the Mako to safely drop, but the thrusters weren’t meant for this kind of quick, precision work – which is where Shepard come in.  
          Finally the Mako tilts back, and the stomach wrenching drop signals their fall.  
          Alarms and warnings scream out. Displayed across the dash monitors: _No surface within sensor range – descent too fast – thrusters at full capacity._ Shepard leans forward and manually begins the corrections, adjusting thruster according to her parameters. Then the Mako begins to pitch downwards – she corrects it just in time to counteract a slight roll to the right side. The exterior cameras show a dizzying spin of sky.  
          More alarms add to the chaos, but Shepard can’t spare a look – the vehicle begins to destabilize after barely a second, and then it’s another round of corrections to make. Garrus pulls up new screens across his dash monitor. After he works at the console, a few alarms silence, but it barely helps.  
          The sickening freefall is ended suddenly as the Mako violently lurches back up, skidding sideways. Shepard is pulled up against the harness holding her even as they drop again.  
          We hit the ground. Thrusters are bouncing us. Skipping like a goddam stone. Fighting to keep steady, Shepard shifts the side thrusters to a new angle and dampens the ones beneath them. Forty meters. If they don’t slow down soon they’ll reach their stop slamming against the side of a Prothean ruin.  
          Finally the Mako hits the actual ground full force and shudders with the friction it cleaves along the ground. Between the siren wails is the constant torrent of dirt, flung up and onto the Mako as it continues to skid sideways. Shepard braces for impact. They’ve landed, and now the only the thing left to do is hope they lose enough inertia before they hit something.  
          Then, with a brain-jarring whip, the Mako heaves to a stop. After the scream of sirens and spray of earth, the sudden silence is odd against her ears. Her hands are still white-knuckle around the Mako’s steering. In her mouth, the copper taste of blood. _Damn. Bit my tongue in the fall._  
          “Everybody okay?” Shepard hazards a look around.  
          “I’m okay. We’re okay.” Garrus straightens from his position, adjusting the harness. His mandibles shake a little as he speaks.  
          Wrex, for his part, looks exactly as if he was still sitting in the Normandy’s cargo bay. “I’m fine. Why can’t we start every mission like this?”  
          Shepard holds back a shaky laugh. Opening the comm, she steadies her voice and says, “Ground crew to Normandy. Landing successful. Proceeding.”  
          On the other end she can hear whooping and cheering from the crew, alien and Alliance alike. But then, sure and steady, Joker answers. “Roger. We’ll be in lower atmo if you need us.”  
          No one mentions the unspoken fact: getting back to the ship is going to be difficult, and landing another ground team nearby is impossible. No matter what awaits them, the entire Alliance crew on board the Normandy are now only witnesses to what comes next.  
          The external cameras show the dusky cityscape, the ruins of the planet-wide city that surrounds them. The buildings are covered in moss and vines, rising higher than the Mako can show.  
          The tiny courtyard is mostly open, covered in strange spiky ferns and jagged spiny bushes. The light is dim, and throughout the air little specks of light glow and then fade. _Little lights that glow above the ground, just for a second..._ Shepard thinks with a heartsick pang. Her father’s words, telling stories about catching fireflies while he was growing up on Earth. She can’t see whether these lights are a living creature or something even stranger, but the memory resonates regardless.  
          The heavy feeling remains even as Shepard maneuvers the Mako from the courtyard to a long roadway, framed by ruins of buildings. There are also strange sculptures, dark statues of the same vague bipedal figure, sitting – it could be asari, or turian… _or even human. Is this what the Protheans looked like?_ Shepard leans closer to the monitor to study one as they pass it by. The upper body and head is slumped, the arms hang hopeless at the sides. As the Mako passes closer, the face is shown to be nothing but a melted-looking mess.  
          The breath catches in Shepard’s throat. It could be weathered by time, exposure to the elements – _or it could be intentional._ Before she can stop it, she shivers, visible even in her hardsuit.  
          “There’s something… about this place,” Garrus says, watching the monitor closest to him. The audible tone of his voice is thick, his subvocals ragged. “It feels… wrong, I guess. I can’t explain it…”  
          “This place has seen death,” Wrex says quietly from behind them.  
          “You mean like killing? Some kind of battle here?” Shepard says the words quietly. Even as she speaks she realizes how right he is – they talk softly, as if they’re in a tomb.  
          “Not like battle. It’s just… death.” In the corner of her vision Wrex nods his head. “That’s all this place is now.”  
          No one answers.  
          Shepard concentrates on the main monitor screen, driving the Mako as quick as she dares. The garden path leads to an underground section – easy place for an ambush, but it’s the only way available between the broken buildings. The Mako follows the tunnel, illuminating the path ahead with lights and video feed. The tunnel ceiling is crossed with stone beams, with small slits that reveal the open sky above them. Rust-red shafts of light filter down.  
          “I was expecting traps. Waves of geth. Something…” Garrus says softly.  
          “Maybe Saren was in a hurry,” Shepard says. It sparks a far-away feeling of urgency - which quickly dies under the rays of red-brown light.  
          “Or maybe we just haven’t found it yet.” Wrex doesn’t sound bothered by the thought. He points to one of the smaller video monitors. “Huh. Hey, what’s that?”  
          Shepard slams on the brakes when she sees it. Her heart jumps in her throat.  
          “Shepard.” Garrus says quickly. “Is that –”  
          “Sure looks like it.” She’s already fixed on her helmet and lifting herself to the hatch out of the Mako. “It’s a fucking beacon.”  
          She hears them clamber out of the vehicle after her, but Shepard stalks straight to the artifact, which sits in a small alcove off the main tunnel path. As she approaches she sees some differences from the other beacons so far – it is much shorter, wider, with no runic circuits over the surface. It still looks notably familiar. With the Prothean filter, the beacon at Saren’s compound had given its message without problems. And she wants information, answers, anything….  
          Once she’s within arm’s reach the squat pillar blinks to life. Above the flat wide top of it, a jumble of light appears – wide lines, fuzzy long squares, and a quick electric pattern that waves from one side to the other.  
          “What the hell? I can see it.” Wrex appears at her side, followed quickly by Garrus. “Guess this one isn’t picky, huh?”  
          “It’s… corrupted.” Garrus says quietly. “It’s like a broken holo-platform”  
          “We were too late.”  
          The words come clearly from the degraded image. Shepard gives a start, watching it with wide eyes.  
          “Did you hear that?” Garrus asks.  
          “Yeah,” Wrex says. “Almost sounded like words. I think it was just static, though.”  
          “You didn’t hear it?” Shepard looks at them.  
          “Nope. Did you?”  
          “Commander, what did it say?”  
          Shepard holds up her hand sharply as the recording starts again.  
          “We were too late. We could not stop the invading fleets. No place is truly safe, even here.”  
          A pause. “It’s a message from the war,” she says quickly, never taking her eyes from the corrupted image.  
          “After we realized what was happening, we took refuge within the archives. Our only hope was to hide. They offer no name, but we are calling them… Reapers.”  
          “Anything useful?” Wrex says.  
          Shepard doesn’t answer as the image above the beacon skips and warps. A new voice speaks out now.  
          “This is all we have left. An act of desperation. We have put our hopes on the Conduit. It is simply all we have left.”  
          “The Conduit.” Shepard exhales.  
          “We know it will not be enough.” The speaker’s voice is rough with grief. “We must try, but they cannot be stopped.”  
          “What about the Conduit?” Garrus says sharply. “Do you know what it does?”  
          The image skips again. “They cannot be stopped.” And again. “ – cannot be stopped.”  
          Shepard’s stomach drops.  
          “ – cannot be stopped.”  
          “Get back in the Mako.” She turns around, and hopes the beacon will go silent when she gets far enough.  
          “ – cannot be stopped.”  
          “Kid? What’s it saying?”  
          “ – cannot be stopped.”  
          “Get back to the Mako.” Shepard says as she passes underneath a shaft of rusty light, clambering back inside the vehicle. Thankfully, the beacon finally goes dark and silent.  
          “It didn’t say anything.” Shepard says, powering up the Mako even as Garrus and Wrex climb back inside. The heavy feeling has grown into something massive, crushing. “The Conduit. It was something the Protheans made, to work against the Reapers. That’s all it said.”  
           _They cannot be stopped._  
          The desperate, trapped feeling pounds at Shepard’s chest, claws up through her throat. Her mood must be intense enough that even the aliens pick up on it, and the ride is now silent. She wants to say something, break the tension, you’re the fucking commander – but if she opens her mouth, there is a very real chance she’ll tell them the truth of what she heard.  
           _They cannot be stopped._  
          Concentrating on the main monitor, guiding the Mako, Shepard tries to calm down, tries to distract herself. _Observe, evaluate, act._ N7 training steels past the feeling – stop the Reapers, so stop Saren, solve one and the other will follow….  
          Eventually the underground pathway leads up and outside again, into what appears to be a main thoroughfare of the city. Instead of the grassy courtyard, the ground beneath them is broken, paved, and everything bathes in that burnt red light. Massive, broad buildings rise on all sides of them. Unlike the towers before, these have no vines or moss growing across them.  
          Wide panels cover most of the buildings, from the base to as far up as the Mako’s external cameras can see. Some of these are open, each revealing a large oval object, darkly colored and about as big around as the Mako’s hatch.  
          “These… containers, in the building walls,” Garrus begins, breaking the long silence. “I wonder what they are. They’re everywhere…”  
No one answers, and after a few more silent moments, Garrus reaches forward and opens the Mako’s comm. “Normandy. May I speak to Dr. T’soni? I know she’s there in the helm.”  
          “Yes, I am here.” Liara’s voice answers breathlessly. “Tali and Gunnery Chief Williams and I are – watching the helm monitors with Joker. As per Alliance regulation we have kept radio silence despite the number of research breakthroughs we are witnessing and I – ”  
          “Doctor,” Garrus says patiently. “We’re seeing a lot of strange compartments stored within the walls of the buildings. Can you explain them?” He manually adjusts one of the smaller cameras to point towards one of the open panels.  
          Liara is silent for a few long moments. “Yes, Officer Vakarian. I know what those are.” She hesitates again. “They are… biological stasis pods. Meant to suspend life, much like a cryo pod of our time.”  
          “What?!” Shepard leans forward to study the images as well. “They all have a Prothean inside them? I thought we didn’t even know what they looked like.”  
          “No pod has ever been found active,” Liara says solemnly. “These will contain remains long since eroded, maybe the barest usable sample. We do have DNA fragments, but all we know is that they had a unique four-strand DNA structure that contains both levo- and dextro- amino acids.”  
          “Holy shit.” Shepard watches the feed scroll past on the monitors. Row after row of panels, with no end in sight. “This might be… the entire population, here.” Coffins – that’s what they look like. The buildings of the city seem to loom over them now. Whatever purpose they had before, they truly are only tombs, now.  
           _We took refuge within the archives. Our only hope was to hide._  
          “Thank you, Dr. T’soni,” Garrus says, shaking his head. The comm clicks off, and they resume their radio silence.  
          “This place has seen death,” Wrex repeats.  
          The roadway lowers into a wide, walled path, looking almost like a former canal. True enough, a shallow level of water pools along the bottom. Stone beams cross above, between the tall buildings reaching up into the sky above them. Pathways? Supports? Shepard can’t tell at first sight, but she pushes it out of her mind. They’re getting close to the spot where geth ships were observed making drops. They’ll be running into combat soon enough.  
          Ahead the path is clear and level. Good for picking up the pace, accelerating the Mako. She begins to press the accelerator, and - even as Shepard blinks the screen of light appears, stretching across the width of the entire road. Gasping, Shepard lurches the Mako to a halt, staring down the glowing barrier displayed across her screen.  
          “What the hell is that?” Wrex says.  
          There’s no sign of a generator, or projector. It may as well be formed out of thin air. “I don’t know.” Holding back the aggravated sigh, Shepard grabs her helmet, draws her gun and again climbs out of the Mako to investigate.  
          “It might be a trap from Saren,” Garrus says as they cautiously approach it.  
          “Hmph. Some trap,” Wrex says. “It gave us plenty of time to stop. It’s not doing anything.”  
          Shepard paces up and down the length of it. It reaches both sides of the road, well against the walls that frame their path. Closer to it, she can hear a low hum, but it gives no heat. No way around. The only other way is to go back – and they’ve taken the only clear path so far.  
          “Gonna test it. Ancient krogan technique for stuff like this.” Just as Shepard turns Wrex picks up a stone from the road and throws it at the barrier. It bounces off the light screen with a thud and falls to the ground. “Well, it didn’t disintegrate.”  
          “When you said ‘ancient krogan technique’ I thought you were going to headbutt it,” Garrus says.  
          “Heh. I thought about it.”  
          Movement catches Shepard’s eye – one of the panels on the building closest to them is lowering, very slowly. “Guys.” She raises her pistol and watches. Her squad raises their guns and form ranks beside her. However, there’s no Prothean pod revealed – only a dark passage leading deeper within.  
          “This is definitely a trap,” Garrus says softly.  
          “I actually agree with the turian,” Wrex says. “We want to go in?”  
          “Do we have a choice?” Without waiting for an answer, Shepard suppresses the shudder and heads inside.  
          The hallway is angular, slanted – it reminds her of the tunnels beneath Feros, where the Thorian hid. Their way is mostly dark, only lit by an opening further down. The alarm is electric through Shepard as she nears the burnt-colored light – they are being herded. Moving in formation behind her, Garrus and Wrex cover their escape, should they need it. Good combat tactic, but… _If that panel behind us closes we’re probably not getting back out again._  
          The open doorway reveals a tiny courtyard, framed on all sides by open panels and dark Prothean stasis pods – some that are even spilled out over the ground. Spindly trees rise up like dead corals. And in the center is another squat wide beacon, sitting on a dais backed by a mass of twisting vines. Shafts of red sunlight reach down around it, illuminating the platform.  
          Shepard steps into the chamber, eyeing the beacon and lowering her gun. The last thing she needs is another message of doom –  
           _They cannot be stopped._  
          – but for whatever reason, this is the only path left to them – and so she approaches it.  
          Like before, the small beacon activates and projects another corrupted image – mostly shuddery electric shapes and warping lines of light. The chaotic forms jitter for a few moments. Shepard crosses her arms, waiting for the message to play.  
          “You are not Prothean, but not machine,” it finally says. “This eventuality was planned for. This was why warnings were sent out to all operational conduction stations.”  
          Shepard narrows her eyes. _It sounds like… it’s actually speaking._  
          “I can – understand this one.” Garrus himself sounds disbelieving.  
           “Me too. I wonder why?” Wrex says.  
          “What?!” Shepard glances back at them.  
           “I have been studying your language patterns since you landed within the city. I am translating myself into a language that each of you can understand.” The voice is male, even-toned, pleasant. A gentleman talking about the weather. “There are no indoctrinated present, unlike the other group currently being tracked. Perhaps there is still hope.”  
          “This isn’t some message,” Shepard says, taking a few steps closer. “This is like a VI, or…”  
          “I am code-named Vigil,” the beacon answers. “I am an advanced non-organic analytical system. My personality imprints are based off of Ksad Ishan, the chief overseer of the Ilos facility.”  
           _Advanced non-organic analytical… it is basically a VI._ It makes decisions based on its given objective, and analysis of its environment. “That barrier outside,” Shepard says. “That was you, wasn’t it?”  
          “I determined that it was vital to deliver information to you. You must break the cycle, but you must also understand or you will make the same mistakes. The Citadel is your center, is it not? As it was for us, and all those who came before.”  
          “Right,” Shepard says, fighting away that warm sick feeling. So many people, living their lives in the jaws of a trap. “The Reapers left it for us to find. To manipulate us. It’s just bait.”  
          “No,” Vigil says, sounding almost sad. “The Citadel contains a mass relay in its core. It connects to a relay in dark space, beyond the galaxy. When it is activated, the Reapers pour through and all you know will be destroyed.”  
          For a few numb moments, the shock crushes away everything. Finally Shepard manages to grasp onto something, force herself to process and accept it. _Dark space._ The space between stars was dangerous enough – you may run out of fuel or food, but there was always the hope that there would be an undiscovered mass relay, or new planet. But dark space was the space beyond the galaxy – there was nothing – _nothing_ – until you hit another galaxy beyond the Milky Way.  
          “The Reapers are in dark space?” As she says it, half of her sees the simple efficiency of it, and the other half refuses to believe. Without a relay to lead the way, without some ridiculous jump in technology… “The one place no one can look.”  
          “Yes. We never imagined they existed, until the invasion began,” Vigil says pleasantly. “Even now we have precious little information. The researchers here theorize that they go into some sort of low-energy mode, like a hibernation, to wait until their next harvest. This also allows them to remain undiscovered in the meantime. They seem to wake in time for the Citadel’s interior relay to be activated, ready to warp through.”  
          “The Citadel has a relay.” Garrus repeats the words, sounding horrified. Disbelieving. “The Citadel has been inhabited since the asari discovered it thousands of years ago. After all this time, all the people who live there… no one ever figured it out?”  
          “There’s a lot we don’t know about the Citadel, right?” It’s the same sick slow feeling, from when she spoke with Sovereign about the Citadel’s origins. “Just like the mass relays, we never questioned it. The technology was always beyond us, and no one wanted to dig deeper and risk destroying it. And if anything went wrong, the Keepers were always there… to repair it…”  
           _The Keepers._ The insectile, waist-high aliens, the silent caretakers of the Citadel. Ashley had been shocked when she first saw one – and it had been Shepard and Kaidan to assure her that this was just normal life in space. _If the Citadel was created by the Reapers, then where do they fit in?_  
          “The Keepers are the Citadel’s true stewards,” Vigil says, predicting her question. “They perform all maintenance, all sanitation and upkeep. If they are disturbed they spontaneously die. Therefore, no one looks too deeply into either Keepers or the inner workings of the Citadel itself.”  
          The horror is revolting. Learning the Citadel is a trap was one thing, but to see the fine detail of it, the sheer fucking elegance… “Okay. So the Citadel is the entry point. The Reapers start the invasion at the literal heart of the galaxy. So the war’s over at the start.”  
          “Correct.” Vigil says. The corrupted image shivers. “They took control of the Citadel, and therefore controlled the entire relay network. This isolated whole sectors of the galaxy. From there, it was a simple matter of moving from system to system and eradicating all they found.”  
          “I… I don’t understand…” Shepard shakes her head. For some reason, the simple recount of the war reminds her of Saren. _Is submission not preferable to extinction?_ “Did you ever…” the words taste like poison but she spits them out anyways. “Did you ever try to surrender? What did they say?”  
          “Of course we tried.” Vigil’s voice holds that trace of sadness again. “No offer was ever given. No terms. They killed our leaders, accessing the records of our entire empire. Some planets were destroyed outright. They chose other worlds to be indoctrinated and sent to resistance groups as refugees. These insiders would then betray their fellows and wipe out entire cells wholesale. But none were spared or overlooked. The Reapers are very thorough.”  
          “And then they just… left? After they killed everyone?”  
          “After they had erased everything. After everyone was dead, and all that was left was the tech that they allowed. Only then did the Reapers go back through the Citadel and return to dark space. Their indoctrinated slaves, including their synthetic-organic-synthesis troops, were left to die of starvation or exposure to the elements. Without their masters, they had no drive even for self-preservation.”  
          “Why? Why… do all this? Create this cycle?”  
          “Their reasons are unknown to us, and therefore I have no answer for you. I can only tell you how to stop them.”  
          “Right. Let’s hear that, then,” Wrex finally speaks.  
          “Yes. Tell me what to do,” Shepard says.  
          “Accessing facility records. One moment,” Vigil says calmly. Then it begins: “Before the invasion, this facility had been given permission to study the mass relays in secret. They were on the cusp of unlocking the secrets of relay travel. The “destination” mock relay was completed and taken to the Citadel. The “start” mock relay was in development when the Reapers came. We called it the Conduit.”  
          All of the pieces fall into place. Shepard’s knees threaten to give way, just as her stomach clenches in its own acid. “Oh fuck. It’s not a weapon. The Conduit is a back door to the Citadel.”  
          “Yes. The Reapers never learned of it, or this place. This facility was top secret, and any records of it were destroyed in the initial attack. All other records listed it an empty planet. We were spared. After we learned of the invasion, we knew that we had no hope of fighting the Reapers directly. Instead, we activated our stasis pods and channeled all our power into hiding.”  
          “You were going to wait them out,” Wrex says softly.  
          “I was made to monitor the situation,” Vigil says. “To awaken the facility when the war ended. But our genocide was long and slow. It stretched past the centuries. The facility’s resources began to dwindle. Eventually I was forced to disable the pods of the lower staff, one by one. Eventually only the top researchers were left.”  
          “You were supposed to protect them,” Garrus says, taking a step forward.  
          “They were aware of the eventualities. I was programmed to make such decisions.” The pleasant, casual tone never falters in Vigil’s speech. “By the time I was able to confirm the requirements given to awaken the remaining pods, only a dozen were left alive. Not enough to sustain the population, as they had hoped. So instead, they chose to break the cycle instead.”  
          “We knew from invasion reports that the Citadel housed a secret relay. And we discovered – when the Reapers are ready to invade, they send a signal through it to their servants, the Keepers. The Keepers are then compelled to activate the dormant relay, allowing the invasion to begin. And so the scientists simply continued their life’s work and finished the “start” mock relay, to reach the newly-barren Citadel and disable the signal.”  
          “It always goes back to the Keepers,” Garrus says. “Why serve the Reapers? They’re not machines.”  
          “They are organic,” Vigil says. “The researchers here believed that they are an early race, repurposed instead of erased. They have no free will or consciousness beyond their tasks. Now that the signal is silenced, the Keepers are truly the harmless custodians they appear to be. My current analysis expects that the Reapers will use a more predictable servant in future cycles. The geth are the most likely candidates.”  
          “There aren’t going to be any future cycles,” Shepard snarls. “You say your scientists disabled the signal. Saren can only use the Conduit to reach the Citadel, and then – ” She falters. “Oh damn. He’s going to activate the relay himself.”  
          “He will gain control of the station to suit Sovereign,” Vigil corrects gently. “Our people were unable to deactivate the dark space relay – we suspect it is only operable by a Reaper. Of course, the end result is the same.”  
          “Why doesn’t Sovereign just go the damn Citadel?” Wrex says. “Big fucking warship, promising it’s gonna kill every last one of us. And it needs Saren to sneak around and find this back door?”  
          “Sovereign is likely to be a sentry, sent to monitor the galaxy for whatever trigger-point is needed for the Reaper invasion.” Vigil pauses for a moment. “Current analysis suggests that after the signal failed, it was up to Sovereign to correct the issue. However, it is not invincible. Reports from the war show it must be close to the Citadel to assume control, and it dares not reveal itself until necessary. Even a Reaper cannot survive an attack from the entire galaxy. But the Reapers are patient, and can move many steps ahead using their indoctrinated agents.”  
          “Agents? Plural?” Shepard says. “Are there others besides Saren?”  
          “I have no data to answer this question,” Vigil says. “But Saren is only the most visible indoctrinated agent. He is not alone. There will be other pieces moving on the board, ones you cannot see. That Saren is sent so openly, with such heavy indoctrination, suggests either confidence - or desperation.”  
          “Saren was able to read your beacons. Your… conduction stations,” Shepard says. “If he didn’t have those, he would have never found the Conduit. What… were they even for?”  
          “The beacons, as you call them, were used as a massive information network. The last scientists sent out the message to rally survivors to Ilos, in hopes that there would be Protheans left after the war.”  
          Garrus shakes his head. “You risked getting discovered.”  
          “The beacons transfer data directly to the subject’s brain; therefore, only organic beings may access it. We did not understand the process of indoctrination when the remaining scientists had awoken. By the time we found that Reapers had organic servants as well, it was too late to recall it. It led Saren here, but it also led you three, so perhaps it was not a complete failure.”  
          “So I just have to kill Saren?” Shepard says sharply. “Stop him from handing over the Citadel.”  
          “Certainly, although I doubt your task will be so easy. Do you have a way for carrying information?”  
          “Like a computer? I have an omni-tool…” Shepard begins, stepping within arm’s distance of Vigil’s beacon. Her omni-tool activates in a glowing hologram around her arm.  
          “Yes. I will translate this information into electrical signals and upload it into your computer chip.” Vigil gives off a low hum. “You may use this program to override the Citadel controls. With it, you may open or close the arms.”  
          “In order to block Sovereign from reaching the inside,” Shepard says, watching the upload progress on her holo-screen.  
          “Or open the arms to expose Sovereign,” Vigil adds. “As a worst-case scenario.”  
          “Vigil. What happened to the survivors?” Garrus steps forward to stand beside Shepard. “The ones who jumped across the mock relays and disabled the Keepers’ signal?”  
          “The mock relays were labelled “destination” and “start” because they only functioned one way,” Vigil says as the upload completes. “They were trapped on the Citadel after their mission was complete.”  
          “In the ruins of the war, with no access to food or supplies…” Garrus says slowly.  
          “They expired.”  
           _And then they were processed by the Keepers, the very beings they’d studied._ Shepard holds up her arm, where her omni-tool glows. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve got your program, Vigil. I’m not wasting the chance your people gave me.”  
          “They succeeded in sealing the dark space relay. You are here, and you are fighting. They would not want your apologies. They would be overjoyed.” Several rows of electric corruption blink off the hologram. When Vigil speaks again, the voice is flat and full of static. “Warning – facility power is at critical levels due to extended contact and data upload. No further tasks may be sustained. Full shutdown imminent. Projected level of data loss: complete.”  
           _Fifty thousand years, he waited. Just to give us a chance._ “Good night, Vigil. We’ll take it from here.”  
          The last bits of damaged shapes blink out, and that pleasant male voice answers one last time: “There is hope.”  
          “Commander!” Liara’s voice says over the comm. “Keep him talking! Don’t let it shut down!”  
          “It’s already done, Doctor.” Shepard about-faces and heads back into the tunnel, leading through the building back out to the Mako. “And your end is supposed to be upholding radio silence unless contacted.”  
          “That is a functioning VI from the Prothean people! The things we could learn from it – !”  
          “Whatever else we just lost was worth it.” Shepard softens her tone, just a little. As a Prothean researcher, Liara’s focus was on the end of their civilization. Of course she’d be upset. “Vigil gave us information about the Reaper invasion and how to stop it. That’s the reason I’m here. The only reason.”  
          “O-of course, Commander. I apologize for getting… caught in the moment.” Her voice is tense but calm. “This place will… be waiting for study after your mission.”  
           _The mission._ Shepard frowns as she strides back outside, where the Mako is waiting in the center of the canal. The glowing barrier is gone, now. Saren might already be at the Conduit… or he could be at the Citadel. In any case, Sovereign was surely waiting for them. _The rest of the galaxy won’t know until it’s too late..._ “Gunnery Chief Williams. Orders.”  
          “Present, ma’am.” Ashley’s voice answers back in her ear.  
          “The Normandy is to go back to the Citadel, full speed. The second you get within range of a comm buoy, start bouncing emergency messages to every military channel that’ll listen. Tell them there’s going to be an attack on the Citadel. Use my officer authorization codes and Spectre designation. Add SOS-flags. Everything.” Shepard stares down the Mako’s gray armor plating as she says the words. _I asked them to steal a military ship, now I’m telling them to go back willingly._ Her promises to Tali, her obligation to her crew – that fierce desire to protect is swallowed by what she’s learned. “I’ll try to activate the Conduit and follow Saren, but there’s no guarantee. Sovereign is going to show up sooner or later, and they need some kind of warning. No matter what, get them to listen.”  
          “Aye, aye.” Ashley’s voice is calm, accepting. She knows the reasons behind the orders, surely – but she also knows the consequences of returning. “See you back on the Citadel, ma’am.”  
          The comm clicks out, leaving Shepard standing in the silence. She hesitates only a moment, then climbs inside the Mako. There is no way to know if she can reach the Citadel; Saren would absolutely destroy the “start” relay to prevent her from following, if he was able. _And I just sent away the only people who know we’re here._ If Sovereign manages to pull off the invasion – hell, if C-Sec locks up her crew with no questions – no rescue will be coming. And then?  
          Vigil’s voice, in her memory. _They expired._  
          “I’m sorry,” Shepard says, turning to look at Wrex and Garrus as they clamber in after her. She took them on the ground team, expecting a fight. Instead she’d just given the orders that might have damned all three of them to a slow, forgotten end.  
          “It was the right decision, Shepard.” Garrus closes the hatch and takes off his helmet. “This is a battle we have to win.”  
          “Eh, I’ve got enough fat in my hump for a good standard year,” Wrex says, settling in the back. “If it gets bad I can chow down the turian.”  
          “Turians are a dextro-amino-DNA species, and krogan have levo-amino,” Garrus says, sounding mildly offended. “You wouldn’t get any nutrients from me.”  
          “I didn’t say I’d do it for nutrients, kid.”  
          Shepard coughs back the desperate laugh and activates the Mako, guiding it further down the canal system. Based on their coordinates, they are very close to the geth drop-site. Little by little she increases the speed, and the six tires kick back the shallow water of the channel as they rush forward. They must be close to the Conduit – at least, it’s what Shepard has to tell herself.  
          “So many races look up to the Protheans. Some even worship them like gods,” Garrus finally says, watching the ruined city through the video feeds that whirl by. “But they failed. How can we hope to…?”  
          “We’ve got a head start,” Wex rumbles. “We’re not gonna lose.”  
          “We have a better chance than the Protheans did,” Shepard adds. The Mako powers up the sudden incline the canal system takes them to. “Probably a better chance than anyone else has had…”  
          The words die in her throat as they crest the slope.  
          The canal feeds in a weak waterfall over the ledge, leading to a sprawling garden. The stream flows past lush ferns, stones covered in ringlets of ivy, and flowerbeds in full bloom. At the far end, a miniature mass relay sits. It is only several stories tall, compared to its station-sized counterparts. It sits vertically, the two tuning-fork prongs reaching high above them.  
           _The Conduit._  
          Between the waterfall and the mock relay, the garden crawls with geth. Small pale geth, tall red models with rocket launchers over their shoulders, and yet another new version – a huge four-legged assault frame with a tapered body and a siege pulse cannon, a weapon specifically designed to punch through armored vehicles and bunker walls.  
          None of them seem to notice the Mako, perching at the high ground overlooking the garden. Shepard’s heart starts that wild hammer in her chest. It’s too many to fight, too many to outrun. And that fact alone brings relief.  
          If he left this many geth to guard the Conduit, it means that it’s operational. _Saren wouldn’t leave this much force for a dead end._  
          Even as caution whispers to her, Shepard is already planning out the best route through the geth. “Vakarian. Control panel there is the thermal-cycle machine gun. Wrex – that panel to your right folds down. It’s the mass accelerator cannon.”  
          “Shepard,” Garrus starts. “How can we take down all these geth –?”  
          “We can’t.” Shepard says, focusing on main video feed on the relay. “Give me all the cover fire you can.” And she slams down the accelerator.  
          Both members of her squad head their stations as the Mako charges forward. The bulk of it strains to gain speed, but the thrusters are able to do their job to dampen the fall as Shepard rockets off the ledge of the waterfall.  
          There are a precious few seconds before the geth notice the assault. The linking between them is obvious as each of the units looks up at once, focusing the beams of their head-lights squarely on the combat vehicle. Without missing a moment they open fire.  
          Garrus and Wrex return the attack, firing back as they get their openings. Shepard focuses dead-on the relay that now towers above. The ground right beside them explodes in a spray of flowers and earth as a siege pulse lands. Beyond the din of the gunfire from her squad is the screechy pop of the phasic slugs hitting the Mako, fired from the basic geth units. _Can’t evade that._ Shepard veers to the right, barely missing the fiery spray as a rocket hits. _It’s these big guys I have to worry about._ The small geth will wear down the Mako eventually – but one hit from the heavy guns and it will be over.  
          Shepard weaves the Mako again, evading another siege pulse. Both Mako gunners focus down one red geth standing in their way – Shepard bears down on it as it drops its aim, staggering under fire. The Mako hits it square on. The whole vehicle whips back and shudders forward as it pushes over the geth, half-dragging it for a few yards. Then the Mako breaks free and continues its charge onward.  
          Even in the firefight, Shepard hears Wrex chuckle, “That’s so fucking satisfying.”  
          The core of the Conduit begins to glow, sending crackles of energy up and down its length. The stabilizer rings slowly begin to rotate. It’s all the unmistakable sign of a relay locking on, powering up. Shepard spares a glance down to the control dash – the Mako isn’t made for relay travel, per se. _Because there’s not supposed to be a relay that’s not the size of a small station and not floating around in space._  
          They’re closing in, now, and the majority of the shots they take are from behind them. The Conduit is close. Sensors across the Mako ring out alarms in response to strange overloads of energy. Shepard pushes it onwards as the rings around the relay core spin faster and faster – a siege pulse hits the ground inches away from them, catching the Mako in the force of the blast.  
          As it slams sideways it seems to lift, now. The weightless feeling expands, and several more sensors alarm. A heavy, crackling buzz seems to fill the air around them. Garrus shouts something. All of the steering and acceleration commands fail at once. The Mako slides along as if over ice, faster and faster and beyond control. Right before it slams into the base of the relay there’s an ear-popping crack.  
          Then everything goes white.


	19. That Which Harvests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******************** TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE LIKE WHOA! SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE! *********************
> 
> The only big thing I changed was to make the Councilor nomination a little more vague. Even as a Spectre/N7, I think giving Shep the power to appoint a major politician was a little much.

          Everything is weightless and white.  
          The world is silent, and the only sense of sight Shepard has is bright nothing. _How long have I been like this?_ It’s hard to get a sense of time from the start of the jump to this moment. Shepard tries to turn her head, but that synapse fails to fire even before it starts. It’s not just a lack of touch, but even a lack of feeling her own body taking up space. _Proprioception. That’s what it’s called._ The thought raises more than a little alarm, and the question finally catches up to her.  
           _Am I dead?_  
          She crushes it down. _Observe, evaluate, act._ Mass relays create temporary corridors of space-time between each relay on the pre-set path. Ships travel though these with no effects – _but what about smaller vehicles? Unprotected bodies?_ But the Prothean researchers themselves had passed through this one-way relay, and survived to disable the invasion-signal.  
           _Ugh. I should’ve asked Vigil how they did it._  
          Even as she thinks it, the physical sensation of her body begins to fade back in, slow enough to be worrying. Along with it comes a deep nauseating feeling, deep from her middle. The weightless sensation does not fade – and Shepard realizes – _I’m falling._  
          Sight and touch and sound come smashing back all at once. The Mako’s interior spins and wheels around her. The crash of metal, scream of sirens. There’s no sense of which way is which, no way to right herself or hold on. She’s banged from one surface to another, until suddenly something grabs her by the midsection just as the Mako slams to a stop. A horrifying impact crashes behind her, and it’s not hard to imagine the wreckage about to crush her down. Instead she’s thrown to the side, hitting hard ground and rolling to a stop.  
          For a few moments she lays still. _Alarm klaxons. Smoke. Pain. Gunfire._ After the sterile white of the Conduit, even this is an overload of senses. Slowly it begins to normalize, and her combat training pushes through to send her to her feet.  
          Lying a few feet away, Wrex slowly raises himself and pushes off the wreckage pinning him down. All around him pools a puddle of blood.  
          “Wrex!” Shepard staggers forward, grabbing a medi-gel out of her hardsuit.  
          He waves her away. “Put that thing away, kid. I can heal. Go help the turian.”  
          On Wrex’s other side, Garrus is sitting upright, shouldering his sniper rifle over the totaled body of the Mako. Cobalt blue blood – the same color as his family tattoos – trickles down one side of his face, from between two dermal plates across his forehead. “You… you threw us from the wreckage. You shielded us with your own body,” he says, glancing back at them.  
          “I heal faster. Not just gonna let you two get smashed,” Wrex says. He doesn’t stand, but puts both of his hands against his leg. “Gonna need a minute for the bone to knit.”  
          “Oh, fuck,” Shepard rasps. “Take… take your time…” She grabs her hardsuit helmet and staggers forward to crouch by Garrus from his cover.  
          The Citadel is choked with ash and smoke. Fire licks across the trees and grass. The ornamental buildings of glass and curved metal are shattered and ruined. There are bodies of geth and civilians and C-Sec officers. Beyond the lake a squad of geth approaches them –  
          The lake.  
          Shepard does a double take, and then she recognizes the area past the war-zone.  
          The Presidium.  
          The geth pass beneath the statue of the mass relay. It looks dormant, except for the slight glow still fading from its core.  
          The mass relay statue. _The Conduit._ They’d been flung from the “destination” relay down the bridge, crashed here – a few yards behind them the Citadel Tower rises up above the carnage.  
           _That statue. We thought it was just a decoration. Kaidan even asked me about it._ It had been the key all along – one half of the Conduit itself. She swallows hard and lines up a geth in her scope. No matter how often it’s been happening, that feeling – that everything about galactic life might be a well-crafted lie – isn’t something that she’s getting used to.  
          “Shepard,” Garrus reload his gun and lines up another shot. “Looks like Saren came in guns blazing. I don’t see Sovereign, and the Citadel arms are still open, but we should head to the Council chambers. That’s where Citadel Control is.”  
          “Right.” Shepard waits for an opening in the enemy fire and snipes down another geth. As she reloads, she gives the area another scan – and her eye catches the far side of the lake. Clustered along the shoreline are tall, thin spikes. At this distance she can just barely make out the bodies impaled on the top of each point…  
          Beside her, Garrus takes another shot. “Commander?”  
          The bodies start to writhe. The spikes begin to retract.  
          “We need an escape plan. Can you see if any of those Tower elevators are working?” Shepard says, finally leaning forward and taking her shot. “They’ve got reinforcements coming.”  
          “I’m on it. Cover me while I call down the elevator.” Garrus ducks lower behind the Mako’s wreckage, darting back towards the Citadel Tower a few yards behind them.  
          Shepard turns back to the advancing geth – only a small handful, now. She lines up the scope, takes the shot. Even as the geth falls, she sees movement behind it – humanoid shapes loping forward at full speed. Matte gray skin – glowing circuits – shining blue eyes. The husks easily pass the geth, galloping forward in reckless attack.  
           _Crap crap crap_ – Shepard loads a tech grenade – it’s too many enemies to shoot down one by one –  
          A heavy thud shakes the ground beside her as Wrex tests his weight on newly-healed bones. Giving the advancing enemies a lazy look, he raises his hand and clenches a fist. A blurry blue-white sphere opens before the oncoming wave of husks, dragging them together in a storm of biotic force and heavy gravity. She tosses the grenade towards the group, and they duck behind the Mako as it detonates.  
          “Thanks for the warp field. All better?” Shepard can hardly believe it. There are countless stories about krogan regeneration, but all that blood, and broken bones…  
          “Better than better. Let’s go kill Saren,” Wrex says. He waits for her to get some distance before he follows. “Sorry about the _tomkah_ , Shepard. Tell the Alliance I’ll fill in your paperwork if you show me where to sign.”  
          She smiles grimly. “We’re going after Saren, right? I’m sure they’ll forgive us.”  
          At the entrance of the small Tower lobby Garrus waits. He’s switched to his assault rifle, scanning the battlefield and covering their escape. Leading them onward, he says, “Commander. The only functioning cab is the tourist elevator. We’ll have to go through the security wing to reach the Council chambers.”  
          The open elevator is wide, with soft neutral blue walls. Cheery placards explain the Tower and the Council in bright colors. The cab closes behind them, revealing part of the doors are made of glass – aligned with a large glass partition of the elevator shaft. _A sightseeing window. Must’ve been a great view of the Citadel._  
          Their gaining height reveals clear warpaths leading out from the Conduit’s relay. Fires and wreckage of buildings, countless geth troops, and the unmistakable husk-conversion spikes out in the distance. Rubble litters the green lawns, bodies lie across long footbridges, debris piles in the water of the lake itself.  
          “He needed a distraction,” Garrus says softly. “The geth, leaving the Perseus Veil and attacking the Citadel? It’s like a cheap disaster vid. And Saren can go wherever he wants in the meantime.”  
          As they rise, that nervous energy surges up again. Saren wouldn’t act this openly unless Sovereign was nearby, waiting to strike. Did the Normandy reach anyone in time for backup? For that matter, how long did the Conduit path really take? That sensationless, blank feeling – Shepard realizes that even out of the Conduit jump, her mind stumbles to gauge how much time had passed since Ilos.  
          The elevator slows to a neat stop.  
          Clenching her jaw, Shepard steps forward, puts a hand helplessly on the glass door, looks up. _Why would it stop…?_  
          “It’s Saren,” Wrex growls. “It has to be.”  
          His last words are drowned out by that one single note: deep, baritone, boneshaking. Shepard staggers to the side, clenching her hands over her ears. It doesn’t help. The note goes on and on – shaking her molars, her eyeballs, the pit of her stomach –  
          Just when the panic crests like a slow wave, it ends, and from her vantage by the sightseeing window Shepard sees it.  
          Gliding in slow and lazy, Sovereign floats towards the center of the open Citadel. Wrex and Garrus crowd the window around her, and they three watch in dumbstruck horror as it is followed by a literal swarm of ships – by their design Shepard can see the majority are fighters from the turian Hierarchy.  
           _Turians are the appointed peacekeeping force of the galaxy,_ she thinks. _They’re allowed the most dreadnoughts. They have the biggest contribution to the Citadel Defense Fleet._ The presence of those fighters doesn’t mean the Normandy reached help in time. Flocks of geth ships follow behind in defensive maneuvers. Grimly she watches as the Reaper charges a wide, white-and-red laser within heartbeats and fires, cutting a wide swath across the attack and obliterating countless fighters.  
          As Sovereign fires another beam and culls most of the stragglers, the floor beneath Shepard’s feet lurches harshly. She staggers, half losing her balance and crashing against Garrus. Even as they steady each other, she realizes that Vigil’s worst-case scenario is already coming true. “He’s closing the arms. He’s trying to protect Sovereign.”  
          “If he’s in Citadel Control, then we’re working against time,” Garrus says sharply. “And in the meantime he’s got us stuck in a damn elevator.”  
          Shepard grits her teeth. Beyond the window, a pale blue light flashes and swirls. _The mass effect field that stabilizes the station atmosphere and regulates gravity._ She stares at it. Moving the arms disrupts the field – hence the swirling visual effect.  
           _Regulates gravity._  
          “Helmets on!” she orders as locks her own helmet down on the throat of the hardsuit. She aims the pistol at the window and steadies her grip. The she pulls the trigger.  
          After three shots the double windows shatter, creating an opening to the outside of the tower. The gravity is altered here, so high up while the arms are closing. It’s the definition of crazy – if the arms stop moving or the gravity settles early, they’ll be due for a fatal fall back down to the ground. But for now…  
          Shepard’s boots gently cling to the side of the Citadel Tower, and a few careful steps show that it is indeed possible to walk up the side. Using the various maintenance shafts and ventilation ports to steady herself, she reorients herself and slowly begins to make her way to the top of the tower.  
          Behind her, Garrus and Wrex follow her lead. She glances back to track their progress. _Not even a single complaint, and we could be a second away from certain death._ Maybe it shouldn’t surprise her. After the Mako landing and sending away the Normandy and then the geth gauntlet at the Conduit… _Staring down death is becoming a habit._  
          Above their heads, out in the space between the closing arms, Sovereign continues to wait. Cruisers and fighters swoop in standard fighting patterns as the geth counterattack – but another blast of the laser decimates the attack. In fact, Sovereign seems to be taking little damage for all of the firepower against it.  
          The outside of the Tower broadens into a network of exhaust vents and pipes. At key points, massive defense turrets sit dormant. They should be tracking the geth fighters, firing on all the unknown ships in Citadel space without clearance. Deactivated – by Saren. Snarling, Shepard moves towards the turrets as quickly as she dares in the unstable gravity.  
          “Commander. More geth ships are coming inside the arms,” Garrus says.  
          “Cover me.” She’s almost to the first turret –it’s easily eleven or twelve feet tall. Crouching down by its base, she activates her omni-tool and starts isolating VI priorities. “I’ll get these things running.”  
          Wrex and Garrus do as they are told, taking cover behind vent manifolds and between shafts. One of the geth ships hovers alongside the Tower, dispensing the small pale models to latch onto the side and bar the way.  
          Shepard dives through the code, resetting the turrets and enabling their programs to run. Garrus covers the position – as geth try to cross the open space between the vents and the turrets, he snipes them down one by one. Shepard looks up just in time to see a couple geth surrounded by that blue flame of Wrex’s biotic power, before they are flung far off in the altered gravity.  
          She hears Wrex laugh from his cover spot.  
          Finally the electric whine signals the turret booting up, and the massive gun raises its barrel and gently tracks the hovering geth ship. Shepard braces as it fires, sending the ship careening downward where it crashes against the side of the Tower well below them. Aside from the later additions, the Prothean made Tower isn’t even scratched by the collision.  
           _Reaper-made tower,_ Shepard thinks. _The Citadel is practically an indestructible miracle, but it’s still the Reapers who made it._  
          She readies her heavy pistol and helps her team take down the remaining geth. Behind them, she can hear the newly activated turrets firing down geth ships – a few even send a few shots Sovereign’s way. Saren may take the time to shut them down again, but that’s still a distraction from his main goal.  
          Under cover from the defense turrets, the geth carriers can make no more drops without being shot down. Above them, the arms are close to closing – once finished, the Citadel will be a long, sealed cylinder, made of that unknown material that no current technology can damage. Sovereign will be completely protected, able to wait as long as needed to take control.  
          Shepard and her team finally reach the first window panel that reveals the Tower inner chambers inside. She braces the pistol and fires. Above them, the enormous station arms are slowing and she can feel the gravity holding them against the tower start to fade. Maneuvering though the broken pane, she starts to reorient herself so that her feet are against the inner chambers floor. Wrex and Garrus follow suit, and the three of them are barely inside when the nauseating twist signals that the fields are stable.  
          Gravity is back. The arms are closed.  
          Shepard steadies her pistol and staggers forward, across the former beauty of the inner chambers courtyard. The place had always seemed a little too peaceful for her liking. Sedate. Complacent.  
          This new scenery is much worse.  
          The carefully pruned trees are smoking and snapped, burned and dead. A fire consumes the curtains of a nearby window. Bits of ash and dust clog the air, and entire window sections are busted out. Rubble and dead clerks lay openly in the reflection ponds. Even a couple Keepers, the silent would-be slaves of the Reapers, lie dead on the floor. A single bullet hole marks their bodies.  
           _Saren killed the Keepers? What the hell does that mean?_ Shepard readies her pistol and darts forwards, moving from cover point to cover point. She reaches the path to the petitioner’s platform that winds amid the gentle grass and flowers. The careful lawn is rooted up, scorched. A massive decorative pillar has fallen, blocking half of the pathway. But even from this vantage point, she can see Saren on the Council dais. A comm platform displays a massive hologram menu, where Saren feverishly works through command after command.  
          He hasn’t noticed them. Shepard slows her steps and raises the pistol. Go slow and silent. One bullet in the back of the head. It could be that easy –  
          He turns and fires faster than she can react; it’s only the grace of the kinetic barrier that deflects away the bullet. In the crackle of her fallen shield Shepard ducks for cover behind the fallen pillar. Garrus dives right alongside her. Wrex darts for the side of the path, where the other pillar still stands wide enough to shield him.  
          “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it in time, Shepard.” The subvocals are static, warped – his voice can barely be called turian any longer. “I’d hate for you to miss the final act. The Reapers’ glorious return.”  
          Shepard clenches her teeth. “It’s not over, Saren. No matter how many times you say it.”  
          “Virmire made you bold. You will not survive again. Sovereign has given me… synthetic enhancements. I am far stronger than you.”  
          “What?!” Shepard almost pokes her head up to get a good look at him – how much further can he be indoctrinated? “You let it _change_ you? What – why?!”  
          “I was _afraid_ ,” Saren says, accenting the last word with a shot that hits the pillar right above her head. “After what you said, I was worried that you were right – that I was indoctrinated. So Sovereign offered synthetic implants which allow me to access its power. After this… this gesture, I am sure. Because of my actions, organic life will be spared.”  
           _It’s like talking to a wall._ What she is hearing is far more horrifying than his resemblance to husks. He could look like any other turian in the galaxy, and yet Shepard would know – _this is nothing but indoctrination._  
          “Saren,” she begins, trying to keep her voice even. “Sovereign is a machine. If you make yourself more machine, you give it more access to control you –”  
          “It is a blessing! We are symbiotic!” Saren practically shouts, the digitized voice crackling with static. “Organic and machine, synthesized into one. I am a vision of the future; the destiny of all organic life – including you. If you join me, you can also have this rebirth!”  
          The thought of it triggers a sickening swell of acid up Shepard’s throat. “I’m not going to do that,” she says, grateful at how steely her voice sounds. “I’m here to stop the invasion.”  
          Saren fires on her cover once again. “You cannot stop them. Even the Protheans were annihilated. How can you even think to fight?”  
          “How?” The word is incredulous in Shepard’s mouth. “It’s easy, Saren. I open the Citadel arms and let every warship in this system blow it to hell.” That thought leads to another, and she adds, “If Sovereign’s so invincible, why did it need you to close the arms? Why did it need the geth to be the distraction and you to be the man on the ground? It can be killed, Saren. Right now. You could do it yourself _right now._ ”  
          “I could…” Saren stops, and for a few silent moments Shepard wonders if he’s lowered the gun.  
          Then he _howls_ \- “I cannot even… imagine… Sovereign’s defeat…!” he practically pants the words. “Too powerful… invincible… unafraid of anything… in this galaxy…”  
          “It is afraid!” Shepard shouts back. _Holy shit. He literally can’t process defeating a Reaper. This really is the only path left he can see._ But even he must realize the cognitive dissonance from the indoctrination. He may not be able to conceive the other choices, but he has to know they’re there. “It’s afraid of us! If I’m wrong then open the fucking Citadel arms and show me how weak we are!”  
          “I… I cannot!” Saren sobs openly and fires again his gun again. It hits somewhere far off, unfocused and badly aimed.  
          “I can!” Shepard takes a breath and stands, breaking cover. _The Council’s best Spectre. He’s trying to protect the galaxy. Sovereign corrupted that wish._ She looks him square in the eye – that bright blue bulb, shining like an electric light. “I’ll open the arms and expose it. Without Sovereign there’s no invasion. I’ll win.”  
          Saren points his gun upwards, shaking so badly it sways his whole body. He looks exactly as he did before – a fully husk-converted turian – but now his entire left arm is completely synthetic. In truth he looks more like a machine than even a husk, and she remembers what Vigil told her – _That Saren is sent so openly, with such heavy indoctrination, suggests either confidence or desperation._  
          His mandibles do that little shivery downward motion – she thinks it means sadness, or regret – and he nods. The gun shaking in his hand steadies. “You’ll win. I believe you. Thank you, Claire Shepard. And goodbye.”  
          In one swift motion he places the barrel under his chin and fires. It’s not flesh or deep blue blood that spills out, but panels and circuits and fragments of wire. His body falls gracelessly to the open space between the visitors’ platform and the Council dais.  
          Before the shot is done ringing in her ears, Shepard is already pounding up the stairs on the side of the dais to reach the Council’s platform. The huge hologram menu locks down as she approaches.  
          She opens her own omni-tool, sending Vigil’s information over as instructed. Thankfully, it overrides whatever control Saren had. In a mere moment, the beating heart of the galaxy is at Shepard’s fingertips.  
          Suddenly comm channels begin opening – sobbing reports from merchant ships, pleas for help from fleeing civilians and military commands given en masse. Shepard recognizes one as the Destiny Ascension, the Council’s personal ship. It sends off every SOS in the book, and according to the messages it is under heavy fire from the geth still outside the Citadel arms.  
          Another active channel loads, and Shepard can barely believe what she sees. Alliance channel, with the ID flagging it as –  
          “Normandy, this is Commander Shepard. I’m on location at Citadel Tower.”  
          “Hoooooly shit, Commander!” She hears Joker’s voice, practically whooping over the comm. “I knew you’d be down there kicking ass. Pressly owes me five credits!”  
          “Joker,” Shepard begins sharply. “Tell you you’re coming with backup.”  
          “You want backup? We got some backup,” Joker says. “How about – ”  
          “Commander Shepard.” A low, gravelly voice cuts over as another Alliance soldier overrides the Normandy’s comm.  
          Shepard’s heart jumps up into her throat.  
          “This is Admiral Hackett. I’ve got the Alliance First Fleet, Third Fleet, and Fifth Fleet, waiting for my command.”  
          The feeling is something beyond hope, beyond elation. Shepard bows her head – suddenly her legs don’t feel quite so steady.  
          “We’ve just jumped the relay into the Citadel system,” Hackett says, all business. “I have confirmed reports of the unidentified warship ‘Sovereign’ attacking the Citadel with geth forces. We’re also getting a lot of SOS signals from the fight – including the Destiny Ascension. You’re my boots on the ground, Shepard. Should we spare some ships to help the Council or direct all our firepower against this warship?”  
          Before she can answer a hand swiftly presses a prompt on the holo-menu, muting the comm. Wrex is standing beside her – she didn’t even hear him coming up the stairs.  
          “Shepard,” Wrex says calmly. “Don’t think what I think you’re thinking. Why waste any firepower saving the fucking Council? You of all people know how useless they are.”  
          Garrus appears at the top of the stairs, stalking forward angrily. “What? This isn’t about petty politics, Wrex. This is above krogan or humans or even turians – ”  
          “That’s what I mean! It’s three damn people! Not even useful people! We need to save those krogan and humans and turians – by blowing Sovereign to shit!”  
          “It would be chaos if they died! We’ll need leadership after this! They’re the rulers of the entire civilized galaxy – ”  
          “So they should be ready to give their lives for that galaxy!”  
          Shepard calmly reaches forward and unmutes the comm. “Admiral Hackett. Once the Fleets are in range, send however many ships you need to cover the Destiny Ascension’s escape. Send all other fighters against Sovereign once the arms are open.”  
          Wrex sighs heavily. “Hope they appreciate this. Hell. We all know they won’t…”  
          With her personal comm dialed to Alliance channels, Shepard hears the orders given to certain ships to break formation and defend the Council ship from the geth. She navigates the Citadel controls until she finally reaches the defensive controls. Within moments she’s activated every defense she can see – along with the handful of turrets she rebooted remotely.  
          Then she opens the arms.  
          The floor shudders hard beneath them, and the whole structure seems to rumble as the Citadel obeys her command. The three soldiers stand together on the dais, watching the scene best they can through the tall Chamber windows.  
          Mere moments after the arms begin opening, turian fighters maneuver through the tiny gaps and dive straight for Sovereign. Despite watching their comrades be slaughtered by the laser – despite the seemingly unconcerned foe – they launch back into battle without pause.  
          It’s out of her hands, now. She looks out over the dais, a view the Council has seen countless time. Saren’s body lies out of view. _Taken over by a Reaper – connected by synthetic replacements._ It makes her uneasy.  
          Without looking away, Shepard says, “Go down there, both of you. Make sure he’s dead.”  
          Wrex and Garrus both move wordlessly back down to the side-stairs, down to the lawn and the petitioner’s platform. Shepard crosses her arms and turns back to the tall windows. Her heart quickens when she sees streams of new fighters joining the fray – Alliance vessels from the Fleets under Hackett. _Our reinforcements. They did it. Joker and Ashley did it._  
          Despite all that’s happened, and what may come next – the pride burns bright and warm.  
          A single shotgun blast thunders through the Chambers, and then Garrus’ voice speaks through her comm, sounding dryly amused. “He’s dead. Wrex made sure.”  
          The baritone Reaper call sounds out, reverberating everything and overtaking reason. More than a few ships outside shake and spiral as their pilots succumb to the noise. Shepard staggers, fighting it – this time it seems different – more jagged, pounding – angry.  
          As it ends, an unholy synthetic scream sounds from beyond the dais. Shepard whirls around just as something leaps up, clinging to the wall next to the window. It screams again, and the sound warps and garbles and forms words –  
           _(Your arrogance ends here. This station is ours! The galaxy is ours!)_  
          Saren’s body looks down at Shepard.  
          The circuits across the body glow brightly, and red bolts of energy course up and down the core. The limbs are pieces, held together with long cables and wires. The head, too, is held to his body with a few bare cables, and the entire lower jaws are gone, leaving only the dead dark upper skull.  
           _(I am Sovereign.)_  
          It lunges downward, landing hard on the dais. As it hits a warp field opens, dragging Sovereign back and lashing it with biotic power.  
           _Thanks, Wrex._ Shepard’s partially trapped at the back of the dais, but at least it’s ensnared in the warp. She raises the heavy pistol and unloads, firing as fast as the thermal clips can go. Within seconds Garrus is at the top of the raised dais stairs, following suit with his assault rifle.  
          Sovereign screams through Saren’s mouth and whips one elongated arm forward. The turian talons are like serrated blades now, and they hook into the natural stone floor beneath them. It pulls itself forward, fighting its way out of the massive gravity of the warp field.  
          Shepard wills her hands from shaking as she reloads, moving towards Garrus’ position at the stairs. He keeps fire on it, even as it lurches another half-pull towards them. It’s almost halfway free, now.  
          “How… how can it do that?” Garrus says as they both break away and flee down the stairs. It howls after them. “That’s a warp field! It was fighting out of a warp field!”  
          “It’s connected to a Reaper!” Shepard shouts over the scream. _Augment Saren’s power and then take control to kill me itself. I wonder if that was Sovereign’s plan all along._ “Let’s just hope we can fucking kill it!”  
          In her ear comes the broken sounds of battle – ships requesting backup and formations reporting losses. Many of the Alliance ships defending the Council have been destroyed. Turian fighters have joined Alliance carriers to continue the attack. And over all of it is Hackett’s rough voice, calmly stating his orders.  
          Saren’s body darts after them, free from the warp field. Shepard desperately dives to the side, but she can already see it’s too fast – that turian speed boosted by the power of a Reaper. A massive biotic force catches the body in midair and flings it back towards the wall, well away from the squad.  
          Garrus opens fire almost immediately, taking advantage of the opening Wrex gives them yet again. Shepard fires from where she fell after her dive, only climbing to her feet as she reloads.  
          The Reaper outside screams its boneshaking noise. Saren’s body falls from where it hit, landing hard. It’s too damaged to leap, but it bounds forward unevenly – straight for her.  
           _Guess it’s personal, now._ Shepard backsteps as she fires down on it, trying to move for cover. This is different from a standard firefight – it’s not fighting with bullets, but claws and brute strength. Her kinetic barrier won’t be much help if it catches her, and the hardsuit won’t stop it for long. The only real advantage she has is to keep firing and hope.  
          It’s taking most of the shots they’re aiming, and it’s still going – badly damaged but defiant. It tries one last lopsided leap, but Wrex catches and slams it down with his bare hands. It rakes him with talons as it falls, but in the next moment he’s stomped it down with all of his weight, aiming the shotgun for its head and firing.  
          Right before the shot, the Reaper outside screams one final time. It’s deep, reverberant, but this time it doesn’t trigger that overwhelming fear response.  
          It’s just noise.  
          Sovereign falls, breaking apart under the concentrated firepower. The tentacle-legs that run up the sides of its tapered body tear away.  
          Saren’s body doesn’t move.  
          The three soldiers watch the Reaper die through the Chamber windows, amid the deafening cheers over the comms. Reports come streaming in: damage estimates. Squad status. And finally; the Destiny Ascension is safe.  
          The momentary spike of elation is quickly crushed. Through the window, Shepard can see one of those massive arms, fallen from Sovereign’s body – and heading straight towards the Citadel Tower as it breaks apart. The Tower itself won’t fall – being made of that same unknown material as the rest of the station – but the windows are more than fragile and the Chambers are filled with additions and debris.  
          “Go. Go, move!” Shepard waves her squad away from the back chambers it makes impact, breaking apart as it shatters the window and hits the raised Council dais, toppling it over. It catches a stone pillar as it falls, which hits a huge stone statue – some kind of abstract art – and soon the entire room is falling apart around them.  
          Gasping, Shepard lunges forward. Something hits her square in the back. She trips, rolls, lands, and suddenly the world is shaking and tossing her left and right, crashing in a cacophony around her. She’s slammed then pinned, then everything is still.  
          The wreckage completely surrounds her – she can’t see where she landed in the Chambers. She only knows she lies half on her side. Some twist of wreckage pins down her left arm – the hardsuit there is actually broken, revealing pale skin smeared with blood. Shepard studies the spot – the metal beam is weighed down, too much for her to move, and the space is too small to reach for a medi-gel with her free hand.  
          She can do nothing but wait.  
           _We won._ She can hardly believe it, even though she saw it with her own eyes. Sovereign was destroyed. Saren, defeated. Her mission was finally over. She could finally stop hunting.  
           _I hope it was enough, Kaidan._  
          She closes her eyes, blocking out the mottled mash of debris that surrounds her.  
          Was it over?  
           _There will be other pieces moving on the board, ones you cannot see._  
          Vigil had spoken with certainty. But if Sovereign was gone, didn’t that mean his indoctrinated slaves were useless?  
          Not necessarily. Indoctrination had always been presented as a tool of every Reaper – not simply Sovereign itself. And according Vigil’s timeline of the previous invasion, the rest of the Reapers would be awake from their hibernation when the Citadel relay was activated.  
           _So the Reapers awaken, and realize the signal’s not working. Sovereign plans for who knows how long to take control and do it personally. We blast him to hell._ But that meant the rest of them were waiting. Ready to invade.  
          Right this moment.  
          Shepard swallows, feeling small. It’s the spooked feeling of a bullet whizzing by, the air of it hissing the ear. _It should have killed me. Killed us. It was hard work that got us here, but also luck. A ton of fucking luck._  
          Could the Reapers get here from dark space? Travel to the Milky Way without a relay? Would they have some kind of backup plan ready?  
           _Of course they do._ The feeling is sure and steady. The Citadel was the best place for a first strike, so it would have priority even after the signal was disabled. But once the rest of the Reapers learned the Citadel wouldn’t be activating?  
          Sovereign had said it clearly, after all. _The harvest cannot be stopped. The cycle cannot be broken. The pattern has repeated more times than you can even fathom_  
          They’re still coming. She doesn’t know how, or when. But even this moment is borrowed time.  
          The rubble pinning her lifts suddenly. Wrex appears, holding it up at an angle. His dark red eyes study Shepard, and he says, “She’s here.”  
          Garrus moves under the krogan’s lifted arms. Shepard reaches out for him, but her left arm refuses to move. The pain triggers little spikes of nausea. “Augh.” She holds out her other hand. “Arm’s broken.”  
          “Understood.” Garrus takes her good hand and helps her crawl out. They’re halfway down the Council Chambers, near a reflection pool. The body of a salarian clerk floats in the water.  
          “Just the broken arm? No other injuries?” Garrus looks her over, up and down. “Maybe you should deploy a medi-gel.”  
          He’s back in C-Sec mode. Shepard coughs a laugh. “I’m fine, Officer. I just need to sit down. Maybe a drink.”  
          “Hah. You and me both, kid,” Wrex rumbles.  
          Shouting, from the main doorway. A handful of C-Sec officers and Alliance soldiers appear, every one of them banged-up and bloody. With them is David Anderson, wearing partial hardsuit armor over the simple civilian clothes he’d worn when he met them in Flux.  
          Anderson flinches when he sees them, racing past the smoking trees and piles of rubble. “Good God, Shepard. I thought you were on board the Normandy.”  
          “Sorry, sir,” She sways a little where she stands. “I had to take another way. I hope we didn’t make you wait too long.”  
          The rest of the group reaches them; one of the soldiers breaks out a basic med-kit and starts fashioning a sling for her arm. Anderson shakes his head. “Udina wasn’t happy, to put it lightly. I was in lockup at a C-Sec station. They were waiting for the Alliance ship scheduled to pick me up and detain me.”  
          “But you escaped?”  
          He gives her a rare smile. “Not exactly. I was still in lockup when the attack started. Turns out, when things get bad enough, everyone wants the N7 fighting with them.”  
          Another flurry of footsteps turns their heads – a thin, dark-haired woman in a civilian hardsuit practically skids to a stop when she sees them. Behind her, the thin floating disc of an auto-cam halts and flashes brightly, capturing a picture.  
          “Captain Anderson! Commander Shepard! Emily Wong reporting for the Alliance News Network! Do you have any statements regarding this brutal attack? What part did you play in the battle?” She speaks breathlessly as the C-Sec officers advance, gently but firmly leading her away. “Captain Anderson! What sort of geth technology created the warship that led the attack?! Captain!”  
          Anderson sighs. “This is only the start, Shepard.”

 

          The chamber is huge, lined in plush carpets. A fountain bubbles in the corner. Soft lights hang from the ceiling, giving the whole space an ethereal glow. A room meant to serve visiting dignitaries from other planets. For the moment, it’s repurposed to serve the Council.  
           _Seeing as their audience chamber is currently in ruins..._ Shepard stands as formally as she can, considering her arm still bound in a sling. Anderson stands to her right, changed back into his dark officer’s uniform.  
          Udina himself stands a few cautious paces away from them. Shepard tries not to take too much satisfaction from the dark bruise blooming around his right eye – but she doesn’t try too hard.  
          “I thank you, on behalf of the Citadel and everything it represents,” asari Councilor Tevos says, and for once her voice is thick with genuine emotion. “I thank your Alliance as well, for the human lives readily given for the galaxy. For… us.”  
          “Please,” Councilor Sparatus begins. His mandibles press tight against his lower jaws. “Accept my condolences on behalf of the Hierarchy for the men and woman lost. The battle was won due to the aid of the Alliance fleets.”  
          Shepard takes in their heartfelt message, hiding her own astonishment behind the stony soldier’s façade. At this moment the Council is leagues away from the pampered politicians, sitting tall on the top of their raised dais. _Hackett mentioned my involvement in his report. He sent Alliance cruisers to defend them on my recommendation._ Even now she doesn’t expect them to thank her personally – but even this much is an honest shock.  
          “Races accepted on the Council carry a heavy weight,” Councilor Valern says, almost to himself. His huge eyes study Shepard. “Asari, salarian, turian. They are called, as a people, to serve the galaxy over their own interests. They are called to sacrifice. As the humans have sacrificed…”  
          No one speaks.  
           _What… is he saying? I have to be misunderstanding._ Shepard can’t believe it. She looks back and forth, between the three of them. Are they expecting an answer? Is Anderson going to say anything? Udina?  
          “In light of our victory in the Battle of the Citadel,” Councilor Tevos begins, “And on behalf of the Council, I am honored to offer humanity a seat among us.”  
          So she wasn’t misunderstanding. Shepard swallows, making sure her jaw isn’t hanging open. _We haven’t even been here for thirty years – still practically newcomers. We’re getting an offer to join the Council._  
           _This is going to cause an uproar._  
          “I accept,” Udina says bluntly, stepping forward and nodding.  
          “Udina,” Tevos says evenly. “We have received no candidate from the Alliance yet. Shepard and her team are the ones who alerted reinforcements to the attack. She is an N7 operative of the Alliance, and a Spectre serving us.” She turns her gaze back to Shepard, and a whisper of that calculating look glides across her face. “I am sure that her endorsement will carry much weight. Who will you be recommending to your superiors?”  
          The thrill rises in Shepard’s chest – it’s not unlike staring down the barrel of a gun. _A nomination for a Council seat?_ It would go to someone in the Alliance, of course. Probably a politician. _Someone who is a good leader. Who can keep a level head. Who works for humanity but supports everyone else too._  
           _Oh, hell. It’s worth a shot._  
          “I’m going to be recommending David Anderson,” Shepard says.  
          “What?!” Udina sputters, stepping between Shepard and the Council. “This is a joke! You’re not serious, Councilor Tevos.”  
          “Commander Shepard stated her preference.” Tevos smiles politely and clasps her hands. “She sounded quite serious.”  
          “Anderson is a soldier! Look… Look at what he did –” he points at the vivid black eye, “ – while he was breaking into my office to let Shepard escape – against my orders!”  
          “That is precisely the point,” Shepard says, keeping her voice even. “Anderson isn’t one to hide from reality. He’s not afraid to do what’s right. Most of all – “ she remembers him sitting at that table, speaking calmly about his plan to get her off the Citadel, and her throat tightens. “Most of all, he’s not afraid of making the tough calls. He knows what has to be done, and he does it.”  
          “Well, quite an impassioned opinion,” Tevos says. Turning to Anderson, she raises her brow, just a little. “What do you have to say, Captain Anderson?”  
          Anderson clears his throat and nods. “I’m honored by the Commander’s nomination. If the Alliance agrees with her, of course I’ll accept. Regardless, the Alliance is eager to extend aid in rebuilding the Citadel. This is our home, too.”  
          “Keeping me in the ambassador office, yet mark my words it’ll be me doing all the work,” Udina mutters darkly. “If this goes through you’ll be in over your head, David. I hope you realize that.”  
          “Regardless of who is chosen,” Sparatus says, sounding impatient, “this is a new era for humanity. Your place in the galaxy is about to change, and now you stand with us to face the future.”  
          “That won’t be the last battle,” Shepard starts. Sitting at the back of her mind is that thought, dark and ugly – Sovereign was one of many. After witnessing the firepower needed to bring it down – _three full Alliance fleets and the entire Citadel Defense fleet_ – the knowledge that more Reapers are waiting is downright terrifying.  
          But the sudden wary looks that fall over their faces is almost as alarming. It reminds her of every other she’s stood before them and changed the subject to the Reapers. Even between her newfound prestige and the battle revealing a Reaper outright, they’re still not willing to hear her warnings.  
          “There’s always another battle,” Anderson adds gently, saving her from their stares. “The best we can do is nurture peace. Together.”  
          “Well said!” Councilor Valern nods quickly, looking pleased. “When we stand together, we have nothing to fear. That has always been the Council’s message, to every corner of the galaxy.”  
          Anderson nods, but he looks to Shepard as he speaks. “Whatever’s out there, we can stop it. We can.”  
          The Council nods sagely. Udina scowls. No one picks up on the message between the lines.  
          No one except Commander Shepard. She nods to him.  
          “Yes, sir,” she says.


	20. The Long Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a little extra thing to wrap it all up, since the game ended kind of... suddenly. I involved Wrex since he's such a great character, and he definitely has less time in the plot later. Like always I snuck in some shippy stuff because I am hopeless. Also enjoy the MEGA FORESHADOWING FUN!
> 
> And... that's it for this one! It's been a pleasure to work on this project, and I'm honored and humbled at the response in reads, kudos, and especially all of the very kind and awesome comments. I appreciate everyone for their patience with my schedule and for sticking with me this far. 
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you!♡♡♡
> 
> ♡And here's to meeting again soon for book 2!♡

          The Normandy sits in its docking bay, covered in scaffolds and machinery and technicians in safety harnesses. The Alliance workers have been working around the clock to meet their deadline. The stealth frigate was badly in need of repairs; it had taken part in the battle against Sovereign like all the other Alliance ships. According to Admiral Hackett, pilot Jeff Moreau and acting CO Ashley Williams had served admirably.  
          Commander Shepard sits on a bench nearby, watching the work. It was without saying that everyone involved in their escape have been cleared of all charges – including David Anderson, whose Council nomination is currently under review.  
          The entire battle and ensuing Council privileges left the greater galaxy in a frenzy. Now it seems Shepard can no longer let herself be seen for long before she’s mobbed by reporters or curious civilians, all wanting her opinions: on the Council decision and the geth and the battle and the Alliance’s sacrifice… Here in the military hangars, at least, she can hide and keep track of her ship’s recovery.  
          In a few days, she’ll be saying goodbye to this place.  
          The heavy footsteps signal Wrex’s approach. He sits next to her, taking up most of the bench. In his hands is a bag of fries – normal sized, but small in his hands.  
          Shepard smiles. “Still enjoying human food?”  
          “You don’t know the half of it. I think your food might best thing about you humans.” He pauses, scratches the side of his head. “Second best, I mean.”  
          “Oh? What’s the first?”  
          “The fact that the turians started shit with your people before you even knew what a turian was, and what did humanity do? Went in swinging.” He tosses some fries in his wide mouth.  
          Shepard snorts. “Whatever you say, Wrex.”  
          “Speaking of turians…” Wrex watches the Alliance mechanics at the Normandy’s docks. “Garrus Vakarian. He told me he’s leaving. Staying behind on the Citadel.”  
          “Yeah,” Shepard leans back, staring ahead. “He’s dead set on being a Spectre.”  
          “Eh. That time’ll go by before you know it, then he’ll be back. Not all Spectres work alone, y’know.”  
          Shepard tries to shoot him a glance without turning her head. _Is he… trying to cheer me up? Why wouldn’t I be sad to see Garrus go? He’s been with us almost all the way._  
          After an awkward silence, Shepard finally says, “I don’t think he’d like this next mission anyways. Joint orders from both the Alliance and the Council, so I’m on two leashes at once.”  
          “Hah! I heard." Wrex finishes the bag and crumples it. "Sending you chasing after geth? There are no geth. They all went back to the Perseus Veil after Sovereign got shot to shit. They’re sending you out to look like they’re doing something.”  
          “It’s light duty. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.” Shepard motions to her arm. “Gotta give this a few more days to heal.”  
          “That bone’s still not fixed? It’s been three days.”  
          “Pre-relay it took a couple _months_ , Wrex.”  
          “Oh.” He pauses again. “Well, I’ve got some news for you too, kid. Now that this whole Saren business is done… I’m heading out too.”  
          Shepard could see it coming. Soon she’ll be saying these goodbyes with the rest of the alien crew, of course. The mission is over, and there’s no reason for them to remain with an Alliance military vessel.  
          But it still hurts.  
          “Got a new job lined up?” She keeps her voice casual.  
          “Eh, sorta. This next thing is pretty important, so I’ll be leaving on the first shuttle out. Sorry for the short notice.”  
          “You going to tell me where?”  
          “Nope.” Wrex shakes his head. “This is my fucking job, Shepard. You’re an Alliance commander. You gotta go hunt geth, remember?”  
          She fights back the urge to dig, press him for more information. _He says it’s his job. So… he’s afraid that if I know what it is, I’m going to drop everything to help him. Because it’s important? Because it’s dangerous?_  
          “Don’t get yourself killed, Wrex,” she finally says.  
          “I should be telling that to you, kid. Your bones take fricking days to heal. That being said, you gotta know…” Wrex turns to fully face her; even sitting like he is he towers over her. The scars, the blood-red eyes and armor plates, the wide froggy mouth and hump-back – he leans forward in that krogan way, almost belligerent. “You ever get in the shit, Shepard – you find me. I’ll come and tear down whatever’s in your way. You remember that.”  
          She furrows her brow, standing her ground even as close as he is. “How am I supposed to find you if you won’t tell me what you’re doing?”  
          “Find a krogan. Any krogan. Tell them you’re calling Urdnot Wrex to a Crush. Word’ll get to me. It’s too important not to.”  
          Of course. The krogan negotiation ritual. “And then I meet you on Tuchanka? At the Hollows?”  
          “Very funny, kid. No. When I hear some red-haired human is calling a Crush, I’ll track you down. Trust me, you’re not hard to find. And then the fun’s gonna start.”  
          “Okay, fine. But the same goes back to you. You ever need my help, you know you can ask.”  
          He chuckles and stands. “This next thing is right up my alley. But I hear you.”  
          “Later, Wrex. Good luck on your next job.”  
          “See ya, Shepard. Enjoy your light duty,” He makes his way down the platform, towards the staircase that will take him to the main lobby of the docking area. “When you see Garrus next, tell him he’s not the _most_ annoying turian I ever met, will you?”  
          Then he’s gone up the staircase.  
          Shepard leans back on the bench and watches the ships go in and out, past the Normandy.


End file.
